THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

PRESENTED  BY 

PROF.  CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 
MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


THE   EXPRESS    MESSENGER 


AND 


OTHER  TALES  OF  THE   RAIL 


THE  EXPRESS  MESSENGER 


AND 


flDtljer  Caieg  of  t^e  JRaii 


BY 

CY   WARMAN 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
1897 


Copyright,  1S07, 
BY  CHARLES  SCRIBNEK'S  SONS. 


JHmbrrsitg 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.  S.  A. 


TO 


DANA   CY   WARMAN 


WHOSE  DIMPLED   HANDS  ARE   KNOCKING  AT   MY   DOOR 

WHO  STEALS   INTO   MY   STUDY  AND   HINDERS 

INTO   MY   HEART   AND   HELPS 


CONTENTS 


THE  EXPRESS  MESSENGER 3 

THE  LOCOMOTIVE  THAT  LOST  HERSELF    ...  41 

A  WILD  NIGHT  AT  WOOD  RIVER 71 

WAKALONA 83 

A  LOCOMOTIVE  AS  A  WAR  CHARIOT    ....  103 

A  GHOST  TRAIN  ILLUSION 119 

THE  STORY  OF  ENGINE  107 •  *35 

CATCHING  A  RUNAWAY  ENGINE 153 

A  RAILWAY  MAIL  CLERK 161 

THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 177 

SCRAPTOMANIA 22; 


M315953 


THE   EXPRESS   MESSENGER 


roar  and  rumble  of  distant  thunder  had 
been  heard  in  the  hills  all  the  morning, 
and  along  about  noon  a  big  black  cloud  came 
creeping  up  over  the  crest  of  the  continent 
and  listed  a  little,  when  a  peak  of  one  of  the 
hills  caught  the  lower  corner,  ripped  it  open, 
and  let  the  water  out.  It  did  n't  rain ;  the 
water  simply  fell  out  of  the  cloud,  and  went 
rushing  down  the  side  of  the  mountain  as  it 
rushes  off  the  roof  of  a  house  in  a  hard  April 
shower. 

The  little  fissures  were  filled  first,  then  the 
gorges,  gullies,  and  rough  ravines,  and  when 
these  emptied  into  the  countless  rills  that  ran 
away  toward  the  foot  of  the  range,  every  rill 
became  a  rushing  river.  Leaves  and  brush  and 
fallen  trees  were  borne  away  on  the  breast  of 


THE   EATRESS  MESSENGER 


the  flood,  that  grew  in  volume  and  increased  in 
speed  alarmingly.  When  all  this  water  came 
rushing  down  into  the  main  canon,  the  song  of 
the  stream  that  rippled  there  was  hushed,  the 
bed  of  the  creek  was  filled  with  big  boulders 
that  had  been  rolled  down  by  the  flood,  and 
a  great  river  went  roaring  toward  the  plain. 
Up  through  this  narrow,  crooked  canon  a  nar 
row-gauge  railroad  ran  to  Silver  Cliff.  Silver 
Cliff  at  one  time  had  thirty  thousand  people, 
then  thirty  hundred,  and  now  not  more  than 
thirty  people  live  there,  unless  their  business 
compels  them  to  do  so.  It  produced  some 
silver,  a  sensational  murder,  one  Congressman, 
and  petered  out. 

When  the  flood  had  gone  a  mile  in  the 
main  canon,  and  picked  up  eight  or  ten  rail 
road  bridges  and  all  the  dead  timber  in  the 
gulch,  it  presented  a  rolling  front  twenty-five 
feet  high  and  reached  from  hill  to  hill. 

Great  spruce  trees  were  uprooted,  the  track, 
with  the  cross  ties  still  hanging  to  the  rails,  was 
ripped  up,  and  the  rails,  bending  like  wire, 
wound  about  the  rolling  de"bris  and  clogged  the 
canon.  Then  the  welling  flood  would  fill  the 


THE   EXPRESS -MESSENGER 


whole  gorge,  and  roll  on  with  such  a  mass  of 
bridge  timber  and  fallen  trees  pushed  in  front  of 
it,  that  you  could  see  no  sign  of  water  as  the  flood 
bore  down  upon  you,  but  only  a  tangled  mass 
of  rails  and  ties  and  twisted  trees.  A  couple 
of  prospectors  heard  the  roar  of  it,  and  climbed 
the  canon  wall  just  in  time  to  save  themselves, 
while  the  little  burros,  with  their  packs  on  their 
backs,  went  down  to  a  watery  grave.  Next 
came  a  long  string  of  freight  teams  bringing 
lumber  down  from  a  little  mountain  sawmill. 
The  rattle  and  noise  of  the  heavy  wagons  made 
it  impossible  for  the  freighters  to  hear  the  roar 
of  the  flood,  and,  as  they  were  coming  down 
the  canon,  they  had  their  backs  to  it,  and  so 
were  overtaken  in  a  narrow  place.  Some  of 
the  men,  leaping  from  their  wagons,  scrambled 
up  the  steep  hill  out  of  the  way  of  the  water, 
while  others  took  to  the  tall  trees,  but  when  the 
flood  came,  the  stoutest  trees  in  the  gulch  went 
down  like  sunflowers  in  a  cyclone's  path,  and 
the  luckless  freighters  mingled  with  the  horses 
and  wagons  and  were  washed  away. 

Fortunately  for  us,  we  were  an  hour  late  in 
leaving  the  junction  that  day,  and  had  not  yet 


THE   EXPRESS  MESSENGER 


reached  the  narrow  part  of  the  canon.  The 
engineer  had  been  watching  the  black  cloud  as 
it  came  up  over  the  range,  and  knew  we  were 
due  to  run  into  a  washout  at  any  moment.  The 
very  winds  that  came  down  the  canon,  fresh 
and  cool,  seemed  to  have  water  in  them.  The 
three  day  coaches  were  filled  with  a  hetero 
geneous  herd  pushing  to  the  Cliff,  which,  like 
many  other  camps,  was  then  posing  as  "a 
second  Leadville."  There  were  preachers  and 
play-actors,  miners  and  merchants,  cowboys 
and  confidence  men  ;  and  here  and  there  gaunt- 
faced  girls  with  peachblow  complexion  and 
wonderful  hair,  billed  for  the  variety. 

Up  near  the  engine  the  express  messenger 
sat  on  a  little  iron  safe.  Upon  either  hip  he 
wore  a  heavy  six-shooter,  and  across  his  lap  lay 
a  Winchester  rifle.  He  was  as  nearly  contented 
and  happy  as  men  may  reasonably  hope  to  be 
on  this  earth.  The  refresh  ing  breeze  that  came 
to  him  was  sweet  with  the  scent  of  summer. 
The  hills  were  green  and  his  heart  was  glad. 
But  his  heart  was  not  in  the  hills.  That  very 
Sunday  morning  he  had  given  it  into  the  keep 
ing  of  the  Warden's  daughter  as  they  walked 


THE  EXPRESS  MESSENGER 


without  the  walls  of  the  gray  prison  down  by 
the  junction.  Almost  within  hearing  of  the 
townspeople  who  passed  up  and  down,  to  and 
from  the  mineral  springs  that  gushed  from  the 
rocks  at  the  entrance  to  the  great  canon,  he 
had  told  her  the  secret  of  his  heart.  The  color, 
coming  to  her  face  the  while  she  heard  the 
tale,  told  him  that  she  was  listening.  When 
they  had  come  to  the  corner  of  the  wall,  one 
step  beyond  which  would  bring  them  into  full 
view  of  the  Warden's  residence,  he  had  pressed 
her  for  an  answer.  She  could  find  no  voice  to 
answer,  but  put  out  her  hand  as  if  she  would 
say  good-by.  He  took  it,  and  the  touch  of  it 
told  him  all  he  wished  to  know.  Now  he  grew 
so  glad,  thinking  it  all  over,  that  he  clasped  his 
hands  together  as  a  girl  would  do,  and  the 
rifle,  slipping  from  his  lap,  shot  down  into  the 
river  that  ran  beside  the  track.  The  door  at 
his  back,  and  next  the  canon  wall,  was  closed 
and  barred.  The  opposite  door,  overlooking 
the  little  river,  was  thrown  wide  open,  and  to 
the  messenger  sitting  there  came  the  splash  of 
water  and  the  smell  of  pine. 

He  remembered  that  the  agent,  running  along- 


THE   EXPRESS  MESSENGER 


side  of  his  car  as  he  was  leaving  the  junction, 
had  pointed  to  the  iron  safe  and  said  :  "  Keep 
your  eye  on  the  gun."  The  little  safe  held 
$40,000  in  paper,  and  over  in  one  corner  of 
the  car,  in  an  old  clay-stained  ore  sack,  were 
$10,000  in  gold. 

We  were  cutting  across  a  little  piece  of  high 
ground  in  the  bend  of  the  river,  when  the  awful 
flood  burst  forth  from  the  narrow  canon  just  in 
front  of  us.  The  engineer's  first  thought  was 
to  back  down  and  run  away  from  the  flood,  but 
the  recollection  that  a  double-headed  freight 
train  was  following  us  caused  him  to  change  his 
mind.  The  trainmen  hurried  the  passengers 
all  out,  the  messenger  carried  the  mail  and 
express  matter  to  a  safe  place,  and  every  one 
gazed  in  wonderment  while  the  roaring  flood 
went  by.  The  main  force  of  it,  following  the 
bed  of  the  creek,  hugged  the  opposite  hill,  but 
none  of  our  party  was  jealous.  Broad  as  the 
valley  was  here,  it  was  soon  filled,  and  the 
water  rose  high  enough  to  float  the  rear  coach, 
but  the  engine,  being  on  higher  ground,  acted 
as  an  anchor  and  held  the  train.  In  less  than 
five  minutes  the  water  had  swept  around  and 


THE  EXPRESS  MESSENGER 


carried  away  the  bridge  which  we  had  just 
crossed,  and  there  we  were,  on  about  three 
hundred  yards  of  track,  and  nothing  before  nor 
behind  us. 

The  freight  train,  having  a  clear  track,  backed 
away  to  the  junction,  told  the  story  of  our  dis 
tress,  and  at  midnight  the  company  agent  came 
to  the  top  of  the  canon  with  a  white  light,  and 
in  a  little  while  we  were  all  taken  out,  and, 
after  tramping  over  a  mountain  trail  for  a  half 
hour,  loaded  into  wagons  and  hauled  back  to 
the  junction. 

II 

"  LET  's  have  a  drink  afore  we  go." 
"  Nary  drink,"  said  the  dark  man  at  the 
head  of  the  table,  and  one  could  see  at  a  glance 
that  wherever  he  sat  would  be  the  head  of  the 
table.  "  You  promised  me  up  in  the  gulch 
that  day  that  you  'd  never  get  drunk  again,  an' 
I  promise  you  right  now,  Skinny,  that  if  you 
do  you  '11  never  get  sober,  for  I  intend  to  have 
you  shot  while  yer  happy." 

Nobody  replied  to  this.  The  man  addressed 
only  glanced  across  the  table,  and  then,  drop- 


10  THE  EXPRESS  MESSENGER 

ping  his  eyes,  brushed  the  ashes  from  his  cigar 
with  the  tip  of  his  little  finger.  The  man  at 
the  speaker's  right  smiled  quietly  over  at  his 
vis-a-vis,  and  then  there  was  a  silence  for  a 
moment. 

The  freighter  and  the  prospector,  leaning  on 
the  bar,  paid  no  attention  to  the  four  men  who 
sat  and  smoked  by  the  little  pine  table  in  a 
dark  corner  of  the  log  saloon.  The  "Lone 
Spruce,"  as  the  place  was  called,  had  done  a 
rushing  business  in  the  boom  days,  but  Ruby 
Camp  was  dying,  even  as  Silver  Cliff,  Gunnison, 
and  dozens  of  other  camps  have  died  since  — 
as  Creede  is  dying  to-day  —  and  business  was 
slow.  A  drunken  Ute  reeled  in  and  wanted  to 
play  poker,  shake  dice,  or  shoot  with  any  dog 
of  a  white  man  in  the  place.  When  all  the  rest 
had  put  him  aside  coldly  he  came  over  to  the 
corner,  and  the  dark  man,  being  deep  in 
thought  and  not  wishing  to  be  disturbed,  arose, 
and,  picking  his  way  between  the  two  guns 
which  dangled  from  the  hips  of  the  noble  red 
man,  kicked  him  along  down  the  room  and 
out  into  the  night. 

Having  done  his  duty  in  removing  the  red 


THE    EXPRESS  MESSENGER  II 

nuisance  —  for  he  hated  a  drunkard  —  the  dark 
man  bade  the  barkeeper  good-night  and  passed 
out  by  the  back  door.  The  three  men  at  the 
pine  table  followed  him. 

All  this  occurred  in  the  last  half  of  the 
closing  hour  of  the  week.  Thirty  minutes  later, 
when  the  four  mountaineers  rode  away  from 
the  Black  Bear  Correl,  it  was  Sunday,  but  the 
people  of  Ruby  Camp  took  no  note  of  time. 
When  the  sun  came  up  on  that  beautiful  Sun 
day  morning,  it  found  the  dark  man  and  his 
companions  at  the  top  of  the  range  overlook 
ing  Wet  Mountain  Valley.  Before  they  had 
reached  the  foothills,  the  sun  caught  the  two 
threads  of  steel  that  stretched  away  across  the 
park  and  disappeared  at  the  entrance  of  the 
canon  at  the  foot  of  the  vale.  All  night  they 
had  ridden  single  file,  but  now,  as  they  entered 
the  broad  valley,  they  bunched  their  horses  and 
conversed  as  they  went  along. 

The  dark  man  kept  his  eyes  upon  a  barren 
peak  that  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  valley,  where 
the  railroad  track,  gliding  smoothly  over  the 
mesa,  seemed  to  tumble  into  the  canon  as 
swift  Niagara  tumbles  over  the  falls.  At  that 


12  THE  EXPRESS   MESSENGER 

point  the  little  party  expected  to  dismount  and 
take  the  train  for  the  Cliff.  The  leader,  who 
was  able  to  read  both  print  and  writing,  had 
noticed  a  paragraph  in  the  Denver  "  Tribune  " 
to  the  effect  that  the  new  Custer  County  Bank 
would  open  for  business  at  Silver  Cliff  on 
July  10.  He  had  been  assured  by  his  own 
banker  at  Gunnison  that  the  new  institution 
would  be  perfectly  reliable,  backed,  as  it  was, 
by  the  First  National  of  Denver.  Being  a  man 
of  good  judgment,  he  reasoned  that  the  neces 
sary  funds  for  the  new  bank  would  in  all  proba 
bility  leave  Denver  Saturday  night,  and  go  up 
from  the  junction  by  the  one  daily  train  on 
Sunday.  That  was  why  he  wished  to  take  the 
train. 

When  they  had  crossed  the  valley  and  entered 
the  wilderness  of  pine  and  cedar,  they  began  to 
search  for  a  side  canon  which  would  lead  them 
down  to  the  main  gulch.  Having  found  a 
proper  ravine,  they  watered  and  grassed  their 
horses  and  had  breakfast. 

It  was  not  yet  noon,  and  the  train,  the  dark 
man  made  out  from  the  time  card  which  he 
carried,  would  not  leave  the  junction  until 


THE   EXPRESS  MESSENGER  13 

2  P.  M.  It  would  probably  be  3  or  3-15  when 
it  passed  the  mouth  of  the  little  rill  upon  which 
they  were  encamped. 

Having  breakfasted  and  smoked,  the  men 
stretched  themselves  upon  the  ground,  all  save 
the  dark  man,  and  slept  like  tired  children. 

The  leader,  leaning  against  a  moss-covered 
spruce  tree,  watched  a  black  storm  that  was 
brewing  in  the  hills  to  the  north.  Presently 
he  heard  a  sharp  clap  of  thunder.  In  a  few 
minutes  there  came  the  roaring  sound  of  a 
waterfall,  and  the  dark  man  knew  that  a  cloud 
had  given  way;  but,  as  the  main  gulch  was 
between  him  and  the  storm,  he  gave  the  matter 
no  serious  thought. 

At  last  the  hour  arrived.  The  four  men, 
leaving  their  horses,  descended  to  the  main 
gulch,  only  to  find  that  there  was  no  railroad 
there.  Skinny,  still  smarting  from  the  effect  of 
the  rather  severe  temperance  lectures  he*  had 
received  the  evening  before,  looked  at  the 
leader  and  started  to  laugh,  but  the  dark  man 
scowled  and  crushed  him.  He  knew  the  coun 
try  and  knew  that  the  road  had  been  there, 
but  was  now  washed  away.  A  little  way  up  the 


14  7*77^   EXPRESS  MESSENGER 

canon  they  came  to  the  torn  end  of  the  track, 
and  knew  for  a  surety  that  no  train  would  come 
up  the  gulch  that  day. 

The  silent  leader  made  no  show  of  disap 
pointment,  but  quietly  dismissed  his  men  and 
watched  them  ride  away  toward  the  sunset, 
with  their  broad  hats  tipped  sidewise,  and  their 
ever  ready  rifles  resting  across  their  saddles. 
For  himself  he  would  have  no  rifle.  "  Only  a 
coward  or  bungler,"  he  used  to  say,  "will 
carry  a  cannon  to  do  the  work  of  a  forty-five." 

When  the  others  had  passed  out  of  sight,  the 
dark  man  reined  his  own  horse  down  the  canon, 
intending,  since  he  was  so  near,  to  visit  his  wife 
at  the  junction.  The  recent  washout  had  left 
the  bed  of  the  gulch  almost  impassable,  and  it 
was  not  until  after  midnight  that  the  lone  trav 
eller  came  to  the  abandoned  train,  lying  like  a 
living  thing  that  had  fallen  asleep  on  its  own 
trail.  Finding  the  express  car  locked,  he 
opened  one  of  the  doors  with  a  coal  pick  which 
he  found  on  the  engine.  The  little  iron  safe 
was  securely  locked.  Having  removed  all  the 
explosives  from  the  car,  this  experienced  moun 
taineer  quietly  blew  up  the  safe  with  a  few 


THE   EXPRESS  MESSENGER 


sticks  of  dynamite,  but  there  was  no  money  in 
it.  By  the  light  of  the  engineer's  torch  he 
managed  to  read  a  letter  that  had  been  left 
there  by  the  messenger,  and  which  was  ad 
dressed  to  the  express  agent.  As  the  explorer 
finished  reading  it  he  gave  a  low,  soft  whistle  of 
surprise,  not  much  above  a  whisper,  for  he  was 
an  undemonstrative  man. 

From  the  car  he  returned  to  the  engine,  and 
with  the  clinker  hook  fished  an  old  clay-stained 
ore  sack  out  of  the  tank.  When  he  had  cached 
the  sack  in  the  bed  of  the  river,  he  hurried  away 
in  the  direction  of  the  junction,  urging  his 
horse  over  the  rough  ground  as  though  he  were 
bent  upon  a  new  and  important  mission. 

.  in 

THERE  was  great  excitement  when  we  arrived 
at  the  junction  without  the  express  messenger, 
who  acted  as  postal  clerk  as  well. 

When  the  local  express  agent  learned  that 
the  messenger  was  not  with  the  rescued  party, 
that  the  conductor  had  been  unable  to  find 
him,  and  that  no  one  could  remember  having 


1 6  THE   EXPRESS  MESSENGER 

seen  him  since  we  stopped,  and  he  was  seen 
heading  for  the  high  land  with  his  register  pouch 
and  some  packages  of  express  matter  bearing 
red  seals,  he  began  to  wire  in  all  directions. 
In  a  little  while  mounted  men  were  dashing 
out  toward  the  hills,  so  as  to  be  ready  to  take 
the  trail  at  dawn. 

It  was  plain  enough,  the  agent  argued,  that 
the  messenger  had  taken  advantage  of  the 
circumstances,  and  cleared  out  with  the  wealth 
in  his  possession.  A  thousand  dollars  reward 
was  offered  for  the  capture  of  the  messenger. 

A  deputy  Sheriff  made  up  a  posse  of  four, 
including  himself,  and  put  out  for  the  scene  of 
the  robbery.  They  were  among  the  first  to  leave 
town,  and  as  they  all  knew  the  country,  were 
soon  upon  the  ground  where  the  open  and  empty 
safe  left  little  to  be  explained.  The  safe,  they 
argued,  had  been  blown  up  by  the  messenger 
for  a  blind,  but  they  would  not  be  fooled. 

The  messenger,  it  would  seem,  had  remained 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  washout  until  the  train 
was  abandoned,  and  then  set  out  upon  a  long 
tramp  through  the  trackless  hills.  He  knew 
the  packages  that  were  most  valuable,  and  with 


THE  EXPRESS  MESSENGER"  17 


these  he  filled  his  pockets.  The  gold  he  must 
leave,  for  the  journey  would  be  a  tiresome  one. 
The  country,  which  was  new  to  him,  was  ex 
tremely  rough. 

At  times  he  found  himself  at  the  bottom  of 
a  deep  gorge,  and  again  at  the  top  of  a  steep 
bluff,  and  saw  before  him  a  black  and  appar 
ently  bottomless  abyss.  There  was  no  moon, 
but  the  friendly  stars  would  guide  him.  Pike's 
Peak,  standing  high  against  the  sky,  showed 
him  where  the  east  was,  while  the  Greenhorn 
range  rose  rough  and  abrupt  to  the  west.  But 
when  he  had  been  upon  his  journey  less  than 
an  hour,  a  gray  cloud  hung  like  a  heavy  fog  on 
the  hills  and  shut  out  all  the  light  from  the 
heavens  and  obscured  the  earth.  Instead  of 
waiting  for  the  mists  to  clear  away,  he  kept  on 
going  and  was  soon  hopelessly  lost,  so  far  as 
any  knowledge  of  the  points  of  the  compass 
was  concerned.  He  might,  for  what  he  knew, 
be  headed  for  the  hills,  or  he  might  be  walking 
in  the  direction  of  the  junction  and  the  State's 
prison. 

At  last,  having  reached  what  appeared  to  be 
the  summit  of  a  little  hill,  he  sat  down  upon  a 


iS  THE  EXPRESS  MESSENGER 

huge  rock  to  rest.  As  he  sat  there,  he  thought 
he  heard  a  sound  like  that  produced  by  horses 
stepping  about  on  a  stone  floor.  Presently  the 
cloud  rolled  away,  and  although  the  valley 
below  was  still  obscured,  the  stars  were  bright 
above  and  the  crags  of  the  main  range,  stood 
out  clean  cut  against  the  western  sky.  Before 
him  he  saw  Pike's  Peak  and  knew  that  a 
little  way  below  him,  hid  in  the  mist,  lay  the 
junction. 

The  Sheriff  and  his  posse,  lost  in  the  fog, 
had  halted  in  a  small  basin  and  were  waiting 
for  the  clouds  to  clear  away.  The  Sheriff  in 
sisted  that  he  had  heard  a  man  cough,  and  now 
the  little  party  were  sitting  their  horses  in 
silence,  which  was  broken  only  by  the  nervous 
tramping  of  a  broncho.  "  What 's  that  ?  "  asked 
the  Sheriff,  pointing  to  the  rock  above  them. 
"  I  should  say  it  was  a  bear  sitting  on  his 
haunches,"  said  one  of  the  men.  "  I  '11  just 
tap  it  with  a  cartridge,"  continued  the  last 
speaker,  but  at  that  moment  one  of  the  horses 
gave  a  snort,  and  instantly  the  figure  of  the  big 
messenger  rose  from  the  rock  and  stood  out 
against  the  dark  blue  sky.  Until  now  he  had 


THE   EXPRESS  MESSENGER  19 

been  sitting  bare  headed,  and  that  gave  him 
the  bunchy  look  of  a  bear,  but  when  he  stood 
up  and  clapped  his  bell-topped  cap  upon 
his  head,  the  Sheriff  recognized  him  in  an 
instant. 

"Let's  drop  him,"  said  one  of  the  men; 
"  there  's  a  thousand  in  it,  and  if  he  ever  leaves 
that  rock  he  's  gone." 

"  Hold,"  said  the  Sheriff;  "  we  must  give 
him  a  show  to  surrender." 

When  the  four  men  had  swung  their  guns 
into  position,  the  Sheriff  commanded  the  mes 
senger  to  throw  up  his  hands.  Instead  of 
obeying,  the  man  turned  as  if  he  intended  to 
bolt,  and  with  the  first  move  of  his  body,  the 
four  rifles  cracked  almost  as  one  gun  and  the 
messenger  went  down. 

Throwing  the  bridle  reins  over  the  necks  of 
the  horses,  the  Sheriffs  posse  dismounted  and 
hurried  up  the  little  hill,  but  when  they  reached 
the  spot  where  the  messenger  had  stood,  there 
was  no  messenger  nor  sign  of  messenger.  An 
ticipating  the  rain  of  lead  he  had  dropped 
behind  the  rocks,  while  the  bullets  passed  over 
his  head,  and  by  the  time  the  posse  had  reached 


20  THE   EXPRESS  MESSENGER 

the  crest  of  the  hill  and  recovered  from  their 
surprise,  the  messenger  was  far  up  the  moun 
tain  hiding  among  the  crags. 

"What  d'you  say  now,  Cap?"  asked  the 
man  who  had  been  anxious  to  earn  the  reward. 
"  Do  we  git  'im  nex'  time  er  do  we  let  'im 
go?" 

"  Git  'im,"  said  the  Sheriff,  and  the  posse 
returned  to  their  horses. 


IV 

THE  white  cloud  rolled  down  the  mountain 
as  the  fleece  rolls  from  a  sheep  that  is  shorn, 
and  lay  in  a  tumbled  heap  at  the  foot  of  the 

• 

range.  The  gray  dawn  came  out  of  the  east 
and  revealed  the  peaks  that  were  hiding  high 
up  in  heaven's  blue.  Upon  either  hand,  before 
and  behind  him,  the  messenger,  crouching  in 
the  crags,  heard  the  clatter  of  steel-shod  feet 
and  knew  that  he  was  being  surrounded.  De 
lay  was  dangerous.  The  coming  of  dawn 
meant  death.  The  whispering  winds,  hurrying 
away  up  the  hill,  reminded  him  of  the  approach 
of  day. 


THE  EXPRESS  MESSENGER  21 

His  only  hope  was  in  reaching  a  point  be 
yond  which  the  horsemen  might  not  ride,  and 
he  hurried  on  up  to  the  narrow  gulch.  At  the 
exit  his  trail  was  blocked  by  one  of  the  depu 
ties,  and  immediately  both  men  opened  fire. 
Now  for  the  first  time,  since  it  shot  muzzle  first 
into  the  river,  the  messenger  thought  of  his 
rifle.  ,He  was  by  no  means  an  expert  with  a 
six-shooter,  but  managed  to  hit  the  officer's 
horse  with  his  first  bullet,  and  at  the  same 
instant  a  slug  of  lead  from  a  Winchester  crashed 
through  his  left  shoulder,  leaving  it  shattered  and 
useless.  The  deputy's  horse,  having  received 
his  death  wound,  plunged  wildly  and  made  it 
impossible  for  its  rider  to  take  accurate  aim. 
Dropping  his  rifle,  the  officer  began  to  use  his 
revolver,  but  a  chance  shot  from  the  messen 
ger's  forty-five  pierced  his  heart.  Another 
plunge  of  the  horse  hurled  him  to  the  ground, 
his  foot  caught  in  the  stirrup,  and  the  messenger 
was  horrified  to  see  the  crazed  broncho  bound 
ing  away,  dragging  his  rider,  head  down,  over 
the  jagged  rocks.  The  maddened  animal  ap 
peared  to  be  blind  with  rage.  He  crashed 
through  a  low,  broad  cedar,  and  a  moment  later 


22  THE   EXPRESS  MESSENGER 

leaped  over  a  precipice  and  went  rolling  down 
the  splintered  side  of  a  deep  gorge  ;  and  when 
the  Sheriff  and  his  companions  came  up  the 
gulch  they  found  where  the  horse  and  rider  had 
fallen  one  mangled  mass  of  torn  and  tattered 
flesh. 

Made  desperate  by  this  appalling  sight,  the 
three  officers  were  soon  hot  upon  the  trail  of 
the  fugitive.  Finding  it  impossible  to  run  away 
from  his  pursuers,  the  messenger  cached  his 
treasure,  took  refuge  among  some  sharp  rocks, 
and  awaited  the  coming  of  the  enemy.  To  his 
surprise  only  two  men  came  out  of  the  gulch ; 
the  other,  having  taken  another  route  in  order 
to  head  the  fugitive  off,  was  now  far  out  of  range. 

The  officers  had  the  advantage  of  being 
armed  with  rifles,  and  to  hold  this  advantage 
fought  at  long  range.  The  besieged,  being 
sheltered  by  the  rocks,  was  able  to  stand  them 
off  until  both  of  his  guns  were  empty,  but  the 
moment  he  ceased  firing,  the  Sheriff  and  his 
deputy  began  to  advance.  The  messenger, 
weak  from  his  wound,  worked  nervously  with 
his  one  useful  hand,  and  had  barely  succeeded 
in  refilling  one  of  his  pistols  when  he  was  sur- 


THE   EXPRESS  MESSENGER  23 

prised  by  the  sound  of  a  gun  almost  directly 
behind  him,  and  not  ten  feet  away.  He  turned 
his  revolver  upon  the  newcomer,  only  to  find 
that  the  man  was  aiming  at  the  deputies. 
Without  a  word  he  turned  again  to  the  work 
in  hand,  and  at  the  next  crack  of  the  stranger's 
pistol  saw  the  left  arm  of  the  Sheriff  fall  limp 
at  his  side,  while  the  Winchester  it  was  levelling 
fell  to  the  ground.  "  Now,  damn  you,  fight 
fair,"  shouted  the  stranger  advancing.  Follow 
ing  the  fearless  example  of  this  man  who  had 
so  unexpectedly  reinforced  him,  the  messenger 
came  from  shelter  and  began  to  advance  upon 
his  assailants.  One  of  the  horses  was  hit  by  a 
bullet  and  became  almost  unmanageable,  so 
that  the  Sheriff,  finding  the  brunt  of  the  fight 
upon  himself,  and  seeing  that  the  messenger 
had  a  confederate,  was  about  to  retire,  when  a 
badly  aimed  shot  from  his  companion  shattered 
the  ankle  of  the  messenger,  causing  him  to  fall. 
In  an  instant  he  rose  to  his  knees  and  began 
again  to  use  his  gun.  The  Sheriff,  glancing  at 
his  companion,  saw  that  he  had  been  hit  in  the 
head,  for  blood  was  streaming  down  his  face. 
The  battle  had  gone  against  them,  and  now  the 


24  THE   EXPRESS   MESSENGER 

wounded  Sheriff  and  his  bleeding  companion 
turned  their  horses  and  galloped  away. 

The  messenger  sank  to  a  sitting  posture,  laid 
his  empty,  smoking  revolver  upon  the  ground, 
and  gazed  at  his  new  found  friend. 

"Are  you  hit?"  asked  the  latter,  coming 
toward  the  young  man,  and  the  messenger 
made  no  reply  until  he  had  given  his  hand  to 
the  stranger  ;  then  he  answered  "  Yes." 

The  dark  man  opened  the  messenger's  shirt 
(and  he  did  it  as  deliberately  as  he  had  kicked 
the  Ute  from  the  Lone  Spruce  saloon),  exam 
ined  the  shattered  shoulder  and  then  the  broken 
ankle,  and  asked,  "  Is  that  all  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  wounded  man  ;  "  is  n't  that 
enough?  " 

"  Not  if  they  meant  to  kill  you,  for  they 
have  n't  found  your  vitals.  What  a  lot  of  farm 
ers  to  go  shootin'  a  man  in  the  foot  —  guess 
they  wanted  you  to  dance.  That  top  scratch 
was  n't  bad.  Reckon  you  must  have  got  that 
in  the  previous  engagement,  eh  ?  The  blood  's 
begun  to  thicken  up.  I  see  that  fellow's  hoss  go 
over  the  cliff;  gee,  he  must  have  fell  a  mile." 

The  dark  man  had  risen  after  examining  the 


THE   EXPRESS  MESSENGER  25 

messenger's  wounds,  and  when  the  latter  looked 
up  his  friend  had  his  own  shirt  open  and  was 
squeezing  at  a  little  pink  spot  just  under  his 
right  breast. 

"My  God,"  said  the  messenger,  "are  you 
shot  there?" 

"  Yes  —  that  was  n't  a  bad  shot,  only  on  the 
wrong  side." 

"  But  why  don't  it  bleed  ?  " 

"  It 's  bleedin'  on  the  wrong  side,"  was  the 
answer,  and  then  the  stranger  closed  his  shirt, 
looked  steadily  at  his  companion  and  asked  : 
"  Where 's  your  dough  ?  " 

"Behind  those  two  rocks  that  are  partly 
hidden  by  the  boughs  of  yon  cedar.  Can  you 
bring  it  to  me?  There  are  five  pieces." 

"Forty  thousand,  eh?"  said  the  dark  man 
as  he  dumped  the  five  envelopes  beside  the 
messenger,  "  and  it  ain't  worth  the  excite 
ment  you  've  gone  through.  But  I  like  you ; 
there's  good  stuff  in  you,  boy." 

"  Half  of  it  ought  to  be  yours,  for  you  saved 
me  and  the  money,  too.  But  who  are  you,  and 
how  did  you  happen  to  be  here?"  asked  the 
messenger  eagerly. 


26  THE  EXPRESS  MESSENGER 

"  I  got  your  note  —  the  one  you  left  in  the 
safe  —  " 

"  But  that  was  for  the  agent." 

"  Yes,  I  know  —  I  opened  it  by  mistake." 

"  My,  but  those  fellows  did  fight  wicked,"  the 
messenger  remarked  as  he  picked  up  his  empty 
gun  and  began  to  kick  the  shell  out.  "  Hope 
that  was  old  Huerfano  himself  that  went  over 
the  bluff." 

"The  devil  you  do." 

"  Say  !  are  you  bleeding  inside  ?  "  asked  the 
messenger,  as  his  companion  sank  to  the  ground 
with  the  air  of  a  tired  man. 

"  I  reckon  so.     Can  you  set  a  hoss?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  messenger ;  "  but  if  you  've 
got  a  horse,  for  heaven's  sake  take  this  money 
and  go,  for  those  wolves  will  return,  and  I  'd 
rather  they  'd  get  me  without  the  money  than 
the  money  without  me,  or  what  is  more  likely 
now,  both  of  us,  and  the  money,  too." 

The  dark  man  put  two  fingers  to  his  lips,  gave 
a  shrill,  wild  whistle,  and  a  beautiful  horse  — 
black  as  night  —  came  leaping  up  from  the 
gulch  behind  him. 

"  My  !  but  you  're  a  verdant  youth,"  said  the 


THE   EXPRESS   MESSENGER  2J 

dark  man  as  the  messenger  offered  him  the 
money,  and  there  was  a  shade  of  a  smile  about 
his  black  moustache.  "  Come,  let  me  help  you 
into  the  saddle  while  I  've  got  strength  —  be 
quick,"  and  he  reached  to  help  the  messenger 
to  rise. 

"  I  shall  never  leave  you  here  alone  —  " 
"  I  '11  be  dead  in  twenty  minutes  —  thirty  at 
the  outside.  Now  don't  be  a  fool,"  and  he 
stooped  to  lift  the  big  messenger  by  his  wounded 
leg.  But  the  effort  caused  him  to  cough,  blood 
spurted  from  his  mouth,  and  both  men,  weak 
from  their  wounds,  fell  down  in  a  heap,  and 
then,  leaning  on  their  elbows,  they  looked  at 
each  other,  the  dark  man  with  a  cynical,  the 
messenger  with  a  sort  of  hysterical  smile.  The 
black  horse  sniffed  at  his  master  and  snorted  at 
the  smell  of  blood. 


V 


THE  Warden's  dark-eyed  daughter  was  tak 
ing  her  regular  morning  ride  in  the  foothills. 
There  were  no  daily  papers  to  spread  the  news 
of  the  place,  and  she  had  heard  nothing  of  the 


28  THE   EXPRESS  MESSENGER 

washout  of  the  previous  day  and  of  the  flight  of 
the  messenger.  Yesterday  he  had  made  her  to 
feel  herself  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world. 
She  had  gone  to  her  bed  happy,  but  had  awak 
ened  in  a  dreadful  dream,  and  had  been  unable 
to  sleep  from  that  hour  until  morning.  Her 
heart  was  heavy  within  her  breast.  She  felt 
half  inclined  to  be  angry  with  her  spirited  horse, 
who  was  now  cantering  away  with  her  toward 
the  fresh  green  hills.  At  the  edge  of  the  valley 
she  met  three  horsemen  riding  hard  toward  the 
town.  Two  of  the  men  were  wounded  —  one 
was  bleeding  —  and  she  asked  what  was  the 
matter.  The  men  appeared  not  to  want  to 
stop,  but  when  she  had  heard,  in  a  confused 
way,  something  about  the  express  messenger, 
she  turned  and  rode  by  the  side  of  the  Sheriff 
until  he  had  told  her  hurriedly  all  that  had 
occurred.  He  made  her  understand  that  they 
had  left  the  fugitive  and  his  confederate  at  the 
top  of  the  gulch  from  which  they  had  just 
emerged,  and  that  the  "thief"  was  severely 
wounded. 

"  He   is  no  thief,"  she  retorted ;  "  there  is 
some  mistake." 


THE   EXPRESS  MESSENGER  2<) 

"  Yes, "  said  the  Sheriff,  "  we  made  a  mis 
take  in  not  shooting  him  down  like  a  dog  at 
first  sight,  but  he'll  never  leave  those  hills 
alive.  In  an  hour  the  whole  town  will  be  after 
him." 

With  that  the  Sheriff  drove  the  spurs  into 
his  horse  and  galloped  away  after  his  com 
panions. 

The  dark-eyed  woman  reined  her  horse  to  a 
stop  and  stood  looking  after  the  deputies.  It 
was  some  moments  before  she  could  realize  the 
awfulness  of  what  she  had  heard.  "  In  an  hour 
the  whole  town  will  be  after  him,"  —  she  re 
peated  what  the  Sheriff  had  said.  The  guards 
at  the  prison,  those  who  could  be  spared  —  even 
her  own  father  —  would  be  upon  his  trail  to  kill 
him.  It  must  not  be.  With  a  prayer  upon  her 
lips  the  bewildered  woman  turned  her  horse  and 
dashed  toward  the  hills. 

From  the  valley  the  gulch  showed  plainly, 
but  when  she  found  herself  among  the  rocks  she 
became  confused.  The  heavy  growth  of  pinon 
and  cedar  obscured  her  view,  and  for  nearly  an 
hour  she  galloped  up  and  down  along  the  foot 
hills,  unable  to  find  the  correct  pass.  Her  horse 


30  THE    EXPRESS  MESSENGER 

was  white  with  foam.  Her  veil  had  been  torn 
away,  and  her  face  was  bleeding  from  many 
wounds  inflicted  by  the  stiff  branches  of  the 
spreading  cedars.  At  times  she  actually  cried 
out  to  God  to  guide  her  to  her  lover,  whom  she 
believed  to  be  innocent.  At  last  she  found  the 
trail  made  by  the  Sheriff's  posse  as  they  came 
down  the  gulch,  but  a  moment  later  her  heart 
sank  as  she  heard  the  rattle  of  horsemen  be 
hind  her.  Presently  she  came  to  the  dead 
deputy  and  his  horse,  but  the  sight  did  not  ap 
pall  her.  Nothing  could  stop  her  now.  Even 
in  the  presence  of  these  silent  witnesses  —  the 
horse  and  rider  slain  by  the  messenger  —  she 
was  able  still  to  believe  in  his  innocence.  Such 
is  the  capacity  of  a  woman's  love.  Now  a 
new  trouble  confronted  her.  Her  horse  refused 
to  pass  the  dead.  In  vain  she  urged,  coaxed, 
and  whipped  him  ;  he  would  only  snort  and  turn 
away.  Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  crowd  of 
man  hunters  behind  her.  At  last,  having  given 
up  all  hope  of  getting  her  horse  beyond  the 
ghastly  dead,  she  leaped  to  the  ground  and  con 
tinued  on  foot.  The  horse,  having  been  trained 
to  follow  her  as  a  faithful  dog  follows  his  master, 


THE   EXPRESS  MESSENGER  31 

leaped  the  corpse  of  his  brother  and  galloped  to 
his  mistress.  It  required  but  a  moment  for  her 
to  remount,  and  when  she  reached  the  top  of 
the  narrow  canon  she  turned  to  look  behind 
her.  The  little  gulch  was  filled  with  a  stream 
of  horsemen,  and  at  the  head  of  the  column  rode 
her  father,  followed  by  the  mounted  guard  from 
the  penitentiary.  From  the  mouth  of  the  gulch 
a  straggling  and  broken  line  of  horsemen  reached 
down  to  the  stage  road,  and  the  stage  road  was 
lined  with  wagons  and  boys  on  burros,  while 
out  of  the  town  and  over  the  valley  men  and 
women  swarmed  like  ants. 

"  It 's  awful  for  you  to  have  to  die  for  me," 
said  the  messenger,  as  the  two  men  leaned  upon 
their  elbows  and  looked  at  each  other.  His 
shirt  was  pasted  to  his  shoulder.  His  shoe  be 
ing  filled  up,  the  blood  was  now  oozing  out 
between  the  lacings. 

"  It  is  not  awful,"  said  the  dark  man,  rubbing 
the  ends  of  his  fingers  over  the  wound  in  his 
breast.  "  It 's  a  useful  ending  of  a  wasted  life. 
I  never  dreamed  that  I  should  die  so  nearly 
satisfied.  And  such  sport !  Why,  that  fight 
between  you  and  the  —  and  Huerfano  Bill,  as 


32  THE   EXPRESS  MESSENGER 

you  call  him,  was  the  best  thing  I  ever  saw, 
and  the  last  wild  plunge  of  the  maddened  horse  ! 
What  a  climax !  I  wonder  where  the  soul 
plunges  to  at  that  last  leap.  Stuff!  there  is  no 
soul  and  no  place  to  plunge  to  —  I  've  always 
said  so.  And  yet,"  he  went  on,  looking  steadily 
at  his  companion,  "  when  I  was  near  fainting  a 
moment  ago  I  thought  the  end  had  come,  and 
instead  of  darkness  there  was  dawn  —  an  awful 
dawn  —  the  dawn  of  a  new  life,  and  the  glare 
and  uncertainty  of  it  frightened  me.  I  can't 
remember  ever  having  been  frightened  before. 
Did  you  ever  see  the  sky  so  blue?  "  he  asked, 
as  he  leaned  against  a  rock  and  turned  his  face 
toward  the  heavens.  "  And  the  hills  so  green, 
and  the  air  so  fresh  and  cool  and  sweet?" 
And  again  there  was  silence,  and  the  wounded 
man  appeared  to  be  trying  to  listen  to  the  life 
blood  that  was  trickling  into  his  lung,  and  won 
dering  how  long  it  would  take  it  to  filter  away. 
The  messenger  dozed.  The  black  horse  bit  off 
a  mouthful  of  bunch  grass,  and,  holding  it 
still,  raised  his  head  and  listened.  The  men 
sat  up  and  reached  for  their  arms.  The  sound 
of  the  approaching  army  came  from  the  canon. 


THE  EXPRESS  MESSENGER  33 

"They've  been  reinforced,"  said  the  dark 
man.  "  But  you  're  all  right  —  I  can  square 
you  in  two  minutes  —  and,  as  I  've  got  to  cash 
in  anyway,  it  makes  no  difference.  Look  out  — 
there  's  a  woman,"  he  said  excitedly,  as  the 
Warden's  daughter  emerged  from  the  canon  and 
galloped  toward  them. 

"  Hello,  gal !  "  said  the  dark  man. 

"Where  is  he?"  she  called. 

"Here!  here!"  cried  the  messenger  from 
behind  the  rocks,  and  a  moment  later  she  was 
bending  over  him.  For  a  brief  moment  she 
suffered  him  to  hold  her  to  his  breast,  and  then, 
pushing  him  away,  she  looked  him  full  in  the 
face,  and  asked  in  a  tone  that  almost  froze  his 
blood,  "  Are  you  guilty  or  innocent  ?  Tell 
me  quickly."  But  the  messenger  appeared  to 
be  utterly  unable  to  answer  or  even  to  compre 
hend  her  meaning. 

She  stood  up  and  glanced  toward  the  canon. 

"  He  's  all  right,  gal —  you  've  made  no  mis 
take,"  said  the  stranger. 

"He  saved  my  life,"  said  the  messenger, 
pointing  to  his  companion.  "  Why  don't  you 
thank  him  ?  " 


34  THE  EXPRESS  MESSENGER 

"How  can  I?"  she  asked,  turning  to  the 
stranger  and  offering  her  gloved  hand. 

"Take  this  package  to  Mrs.  Monaro  in  the 
white  cottage  on  the  river,  down  by  the  smel 
ter  —  she  's  my  wife ;  you  '11  find  her ;  and  if 
you  '11  take  the  trouble  to  be  kind  to  her  I  shall 
die  in  your  debt  and  remain  so,  so  long  as 
I  'in  dead.  Now  take  this  gun  and  protect  that 
boy.  They  won't  fire  on  you,  and  I  don't  care 
to  kill  anybody  else,  now  that  I  am  already 
overdue  in  another  world." 

She  took  the  gun  mechanically,  and  turned 
to  face  the  posse  that  was  at  that  moment  be 
ginning  to  swarm  from  the  canon. 

"Are  you  mad?  "  shouted  the  Warden. 

"Drop  that  gun,"  cried  a  Sheriff,  with  his 
left  arm  in  a  sling. 

The  messenger,  utterly  unable  to  understand 
what  the  row  was  all  about,  attempted  to  rise, 
and  in  his  excitement  stood  on  his  broken  ankle, 
and  the  quick  pain  caused  him  to  fall  in  a  faint. 

"  Look  after  the  boy,"  said  the  dark  man, 
and  the  Warden's  daughter  dropped  the  ugly 
weapon  and  lifted  her  lover's  head  from  the 
ground. 


THE   EXPRESS  MESSENGER  35 

"Drop  that  gun,"  repeated  the  Sheriff.  A 
cowboy  shied  a  rope  at  the  dark  man,  but  he 
dodged  it. 

"  One  minute,"  said  he,  opening  his  shirt 
and  showing  his  death  wound,  "  you  '11  have 
no  trouble  arresting  me." 

"  Where  's  the  murderer?  "  shouted  an  excited 
citizen. 

"There's  the  chief,"  said  the  dark  man, 
pointing  to  the  wounded  Sheriff.  The  Sheriff 
scowled. 

"  Is  the  express  agent  here?  "  asked  the  prin 
cipal  speaker,  and  a  fat  man  with  a  red  face 
came  forward. 

"  This  messenger  is  innocent.  I  mean  to  kill 
the  first  man  who  offers  to  lay  a  hand  on  him ; 
after  that  you  must  protect  him.  This  letter, 
which  I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  open,  explains 
it  all.  The  sack  of  gold  he  left  in  the  tank, 
you  '11  find  where  I  cached  it  in  the  river  oppo 
site  the  engine.  The  paper,  I  suppose,  is  all 
there  by  his  side.  He  was  afraid  of  being 
robbed,  and  was  trying  to  reach  the  junction 
when  he  was  assaulted  by  these  idiots  whom  he 
mistook  for  robbers,  and  how  well  he  fought,  his 


36  THE  EXPRESS  MESSENGER 

own  wounds  and  the  dead  man  down  in  the 
gulch  will  show  you." 

The  messenger,  having  regained  conscious 
ness,  sat  up  and  looked  wildly  about.  The 
agent,  realizing  at  a  glance  what  an  awful  mis 
take  had  been  made,  fell  upon  the  bewildered 
messenger  and  wept  like  a  woman.  Every  pass 
ing  second  added  to  the  general  confusion  and 
excitement.  Cries  of  "  Hang  them,  hang  them," 
came  frequent  and  fast  from  the  rapidly  increas 
ing  crowd. 

The  Warden,  who  also  understood,  lifted  his 
daughter,  held  her  in  his  arms,  and  kissed 
away  the  tears  that  were  filtering  through  her 
smiles. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  the  Sheriff  to  his 
companion. 

"  Because  you  're  a  chump,"  said  the  dark 
man. 

"What's  it  all  about?"  asked  the  messenger 
of  the  agent. 

"Where  is  the  murderer?"  cried  a  new 
comer,  a  brother  of  the  dead  deputy,  and  then, 
catching  sight  of  the  messenger,  he  ran  straight 
toward  him,  holding  out  a  cocked  revolver  as 


THE  EXPRESS  MESSENGER  37 

though  it  had  been  a  sword  with  which  he  in 
tended  to  run  him  through.  When  he  was 
within  four  or  five  feet  of  the  wounded  man,  the 
dark  man  struck  him  a  fearful  blow  with  a  forty- 
five.  The  man  went  down,  the  dark  man 
coughed,  and  a  great  flood  of  blood  gushed 
from  his  mouth ;  he  clutched  at  his  throat  and 
fell  forward  upon  his  face. 

When  they  turned  him  over  he  was  dead. 

"  My  poor  dead  friend,"  the  messenger  al 
most  moaned,  dragging  himself  toward  the 
prostrate  form,  "  and  I  don't  even  know  his 
name." 

"  1  do,"  said  Sheriff  Shone,  who  had  just  ar 
rived  upon  the  scene  and  pushed  through  the 
crowd.  "  It 's  Huerfano  Bill,  the  bandit." 


JLocomotite  tljac 


THE   LOCOMOTIVE  THAT  LOST 
HERSELF 


T^NGINE  13  had  been  designed  by  a  genius 
who  was  called  a  crank.  He  was  the 
inventor  of  some  of  the  most  useful  tools  and 
appliances  in  use  in  the  shops.  He  was  an 
enthusiast.  If  he  had  not  been,  his  design 
would  never  have  been  accepted  by  the  super 
intendent  of  motive  power  and  machinery.  He 
claimed  that  his  new  locomotive  would  steam 
better,  pull  harder,  and  run  faster  than  any 
engine  on  the  K.  P.  She  was  so  constructed 
that  she  could  run  farther  on  a  tank  of  water, 
the  enthusiast  said,  than  an  ordinary  locomotive 
would  run  on  two ;  and  that  was  good,  for 
water  was  scarce  on  the  plains.  She  had 
patent  lubricators  and  balanced  valves,  new 
inventions  at  that  time,  and  being  fresh  painted 
and  handsome,  she  was  regarded  as  a  good 


42     THE  LOCOMOTIVE    THA  T  LOST  HERSELF 

"  catch  "  by  the  engineers  of  the  Smoky-Hill 
division.  The  genius  who  designed  her  had 
been  sejit  East  to  the  locomotive  works,  to 
superintend  her  construction ;  and  long  before 
the  engine  was  completed,  the  mechanics  em 
ployed  upon  her  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion 
that  the  Western  engineer  was  as  crazy  as  a 
jack  snipe. 

As  the  locomotive  neared  completion  the 
enthusiasm  of  her  designer  increased.  A 
quiet,  undemonstrative  enthusiasm,  it  was,  that 
seemed  to  possess  the  soul  of  the  inventor  and 
to  fill  his  life  with  all  that  he  needed.  Upon 
her  growing  skeleton  he  worked  himself  weary, 
and  then  rested  himself  in  quiet  contemplation 
of  his  ideal  engine;  and  finally,  when  the 
wheels  were  placed  beneath  her  frame,  he 
began  to  see  her  as  she  should  appear  when 
completed.  One  morning  when  the  workmen 
came,  they  found  Hansen's  bed  in  the  engine 
tank.  From  that  day  forward  he  worked  about 
her  by  day,  and  slept,  if  he  slept  at  all,  upon 
her  at  night. 

Oscar  Hansen,  a  Dane,  had  yellow  hair  and 
a  very  poor  stand  of  clay-colored  whiskers. 


THE  LOCOMOTIVE   THA  T  LOST  HERSELF    43 

Like  writing  and  painting  geniuses,  he  allowed 
his  hair  and  beard  to  grow  and  blow  as  they 
would,  and  the  result  was  that  he  was  about  as 
unhandsome  a  man  as  one  would  meet  in  a  life 
time.  All  this  was  nothing  to  Hansen.  He 
lived  in  his  work,  and  believed  that  in  time  he 
would  run  away  from  Stephenson,  Franklin,  and 
all  the  rest. 

When  the  13  arrived  at  Kansas  City,  Hansen 
was  with  her,  and  he  remained  with  her  day 
and  night  until  she  was  taken  out  to  be  lim 
bered  up  for  her  trial  trip.  He  insisted  upon 
handling  her  himself,  and  would  not  allow  the 
locomotive  engineer  to  touch  the  throttle  until 
the  master  mechanic  came  to  him  personally 
and  remonstrated.  It  was  evident  from  the 
very  first  that  the  engine  was  not  right,  and 
the  engineer  told  Hansen  so  at  the  close  of  the 
first  day  with  her.  Hansen  became  so  angry 
that  he  threatened  to  kill  the  engineer  if  he 
ever  dared  to  repeat  what  he  had  said.  Every 
day  for  nearly  a  week  the  new  engine  was  raced 
around  the  yards,  and  never  for  a  moment  did 
Hansen  leave  her.  His  wild  hair  became 
wilder,  his  deep  eyes  sank  deeper  into  his  head, 


44     THE  LOCOMOTIVE    THAT  LOST  HERSELF 

and  his  thin  white  face  became  almost  horrible 
to  see.  At  the  end  of  a  week  it  was  decided 
to  put  the  13  on  the  Denver  Express  for  her 
trial  trip,  and  Hansen  surprised  the  master 
mechanic  by  asking  to  be  allowed  to  run 
her. 

"But  you  are  not  a  locomotive  engineer," 
urged  the  official,  "and  I  couldn't  think  of 
allowing  you  to  handle  the  engine.  You  may 
go  with  her,  if  you  wish  ;  but  the  engineer  must 
have  full  control  of  the  locomotive." 

Hansen  went  sullenly  out,  and  climbed  up 
into  the  cab.  When  the  conductor  came  with 
the  orders,  he  glanced  up,  and  asked  :  "  Who  's 
his  whiskers?" 

"  That  fellow  with  the  tired  look  and 
troubled  tresses,"  answered  the  engineer,  "  is 
the  idiot  who  designed  this  machine." 

Hansen  had,  by  insisting  upon  running  the 
new  locomotive  himself,  incurred  the  displeasure 
of  every  engineer  on  the  road,  and  as  this 
remark  was  meant  for  him  to  hear,  he  heard  it. 
When  the  conductor  left  the  engine,  Hansen 
crossed  over  to  the  driver's  side  and  said  :  "  If 
you  don't  make  time  to-day,  I  '11  run  her  my- 


THE  LOCOMOTIVE    THAT   LOST  HERSELF    45 

self,  and  I  '11  send  you  where  you  won't  want  a 
fireman." 

The  driver  only  laughed,  for  the  sanity  of  the 
inventor  had  been  a  debatable  question  ever 
since  his  return  with  the  new  engine. 

The  train  to  which  the  1 3  was  coupled  was  a 
heavy  one,  for  Colorado  was  at  that  time  just 
beginning  to  "  boom."  In  the  first  run,  of 
seven  miles,  they  lost  five  minutes,  but  Hansen 
was  too  much  taken  up  with  watching  his 
machine  to  take  note  of  the  time.  Her  boiler 
was  foaming,  as  new  boilers  usually  do ;  her 
main  pins  were  hot,  and  so  was  her  engineer. 
The  first  stop  was  at  a  small  town,  and  when 
the  conductor  gave  the  signal  to  go,  the  engineer 
was  still  on  the  ground  pouring  tallow  on  the 
pins.  Hansen  became  frantic  at  what,  to  him, 
seemed  unnecessary  delay,  and  springing  to  the 
driver's  side  he  pulled  the  throttle  wide  open 
without  releasing  the  air-brakes.  The  engine 
lurched  forward,  and  when  the  slack  was  gone, 
her  wheels  began  to  revolve  at  a  frightful  rate. 
The  engineer  sprang  into  the  cab,  and  found 
Hansen  working  frantically  in  a  vain  effort  to 
shut  off  steam,  and  concluded  at  a  glance  that 


46     THE   LOCOMOTIVE    THAT  LOST  HERS  EL  I'" 

the  throttle  had  been  left  partly  open,  and  that 
the  high  pressure  of  steam  had  forced  it  out. 
Now,  when  the  engineer,  fireman,  and  Hansen 
all  seized  the  lever  to  force  the  throttle  in,  they 
sprung  the  stem,  and  the  thing  could  not  be 
closed.  The  engineer  released  the  air  with  the 
hope  that  the  train  might  be  started,  and  in  that 
way  the  engine  could  be  cooled  down  without 
doing  any  great  damage.  But  the  wheels  were 
now  revolving  at  such  a  rate  that  the  engine  had 
no  adhesive  power,  and  the  train  stood  still.  Five, 
ten,  fifteen  seconds  went  by,  and  still  the  three 
men  worked,  each  in  another's  way,  trying  to 
shut  off  steam.  A  solid  stream  of  fire  was  rolling 
out  of  the  stack,  and  such  sprays  of  sparks  came 
from  the  drivers  that  they  looked  like  living 
flames. 

Pushing  Hansen  and  the  fireman  out  of  his 
way,  the  engineer  opened  both  injectors  ;  and 
what  with  the  cold  water  going  in  and  the  fire 
going  out,  the  mad  machine  cooled  rapidly,  and 
in  a  few  moments  ground  harshly  and  came  to 
a  stop.  It  was  found,  upon  examination,  that 
the  drivers  had  dug  great  holes  in  the  steel  rails, 
and  that  the  tires  on  the  back  pair  of  driving- 


THE   LOCOMOTIVE    THAT  LOST  HERSELF    47 

wheels,  already  well  heated  by  the  furnace,  had 
loosened  by  expansion  and  slipped  nearly  off 
the  wheels.  In  a  little  while  the  throttle  was 
cooled  and  closed,  and  a  fresh  fire  was  made ; 
but  when  they  gave  the  engine  steam  she  re 
fused  to  move.  She  was  uncoupled,  and  still 
refused  to  go  ;  and  then  they  saw  that  her  tires 
had  cooled  and  clasped  the  fire-box,  and  the 
fire-box,  expanding,  held  them  there  and  locked 
the  wheels. 

When  they  had  put  out  her  fire,  the  wheels 
let  loose,  so  that  a  yard  engine  could  drag 
her  back  to  the  round-house.  All  the  way  her 
scarred  wheels  ground  and  ground  against  her 
frame,  while  Hansen  sat  in  the  tank  with  his 
thin  yellow  whiskers  full  of  coal  dust,  and 
nobody  but  he  knew  that  he  had  opened  the 
throttle. 

During  the  weeks  that  followed,  while  the  1 3 
was  being  repaired,  having  her  tires  turned 
down  to  remove  the  slivers  of  steel,  and  getting 
reset  and  repainted,  Hansen  never  left  her  for 
a  single  hour.  His  condition  became  so  pitiable 
that  the  engineers,  who  had  at  first  looked  upon 
him  with  contempt,  now  spoke  kindly  to  him 


48     THE  LOCOMOTIVE    THAT  LOST  HERSELF 

or  gave  him  no  attention  at  all.  He  rarely 
washed  now ;  his  yellow  beard  was  dark  with 
coal  dust,  and  his  death-hued  face  was  splotched 
with  soot  and  black  oil.  By  the  time  the  13 
was  ready  for  the  road,  Hansen  was  almost 
ready  for  an  undertaker ;  and  when  the  master 
mechanic  saw  him,  he  gave  orders  that  the  in 
ventor  must  not  be  allowed  to  go  out  on  the 
engine,  which  was  to  take  out  the  fast  freight,  a 
night  run  of  some  importance. 

Hansen  had  hoped,  even  boasted,  that  the  13 
should  never  be  coupled  into  anything  plainer 
than  a  mail  car,  and  now  when  he  learned  that 
she  was  going  out  on  a  freight  run  he  was 
frantic.  Formerly  he  had  insisted  upon  running 
the  engine  only ;  now  he  wanted  to  run  the 
road.  When  the  foreman  told  him,  as  kindly  as 
he  could,  that  no  one  would  be  allowed  in  the 
cab  of  the  13  except  the  engineer  and  the  fire 
man,  the  inventor  glared  fiercely  for  a  moment, 
then  turned  and  entered  the  office  of  the  master 
mechanic.  He  did  not  wait  to  be  ushered  in, 
but  strode  to  the  chiefs  desk,  and  informed  the 
head  of  the  motive  power  department  that 
engine  1 3  would  not  go  out  on  freight ;  that 


THE   LOCOMOTIVE    THAT  LOST  HERSELF    49 

when  she  did  go  out  she  would  pull  a  passenger 
train,  and  that  he,  Hansen,  would  be  the 
engineer. 

The  master  mechanic  was  forced  to  be  firm 
with  the  man,  whom,  up  to  now,  he  had  avoided 
or  humored ;  and  he  told  him  plainly  that  the 
orders  given  concerning  the  new  engine  would 
certainly  be  carried  out,  and  that  if  he  became 
too  troublesome  he  would  be  locked  up.  Han- 
sen  raved  like  a  madman,  and  all  the  clerks  in 
the  office  were  unable  to  seize  and  hold  him. 
"  She  is  my  life  !  "  he  shrieked.  "  I  have  put 
my  soul  into  her,  and  I  will  never  allow  her  to 
go  out  of  my  sight  —  you  will  be  guilty  of 
murder  if  you  separate  us." 

As  the  mad  inventor  fought  he  frothed  at 
the  mouth,  and  the  perspiration  that  almost 
streamed  from  his  forehead  washed  white  fur 
rows  clown  his  face.  It  was  not  until  the  special 
officer  came  with  handcuffs  that  Hansen  could 
be  controlled ;  and  as  the  1 3  rolled  slowly 
across  the  turn-table  he  was  led  away  to  the 
lock-up.  He  became  perfectly  quiet  now,  and 
when  they  reached  the  "  Cooler,"  as  it  was 
called,  the  officer  removed  the  handcuffs  and 


50     THE  LOCOMOTIVE    THAT  LOST  HERSELF 

turned  to  unlock  the  door.  Hansen,  taking 
advantage  of  this  opportunity,  turned  quickly 
and  bolted,  and  was  many  yards  away  before 
the  officer,  rattling  away  at  the  padlock,  knew 
that  his  prisoner  had  escaped. 

The  officer  very  naturally  supposed  that 
Hansen  would  return  to  the  shops,  but  he  did 
not.  He  made  straight  for  the  freight  yards, 
where  the  13  stood  steaming,  all  coupled  up 
and  ready  to  pull  out  on  her  night  run  over  the 
plains.  The  engineer  had  finished  oiling,  and 
had  gone  into  the  little  telegraph  office  where 
the  conductor  was  getting  orders.  The  fireman, 
who  was  in  the  cab  looking  after  the  engine, 
saw  Hansen  come  leaping  over  the  strings  of 
flat  and  coal  cars,  with  his  beard  sweeping 
round  his  neck,  and  his  yellow  hair  blown  back 
from  his  bare  head.  As  the  inventor  sprang 
upon  the  engine  the  fireman  seized  him,  only  to 
be  hurled  out  over  the  coal  tank  by  the  desperate 
Dane.  Having  freed  himself  from  the  fireman, 
Hansen  gave  two  sharp  blasts  —  "  off  brakes  "  • 
and  opened  the  throttle.  The  sudden  jerk 
broke  the  train  in  two,  four  cars  from  the 
engine ;  and  before  the  astonished  engineer 


THE  LOCOMOTIVE    THAT  LOST  HERSELF    51 

could  reach  the  head  end  the  engine  was  in 
motion.  The  mad  driver  knew  enough  to  open 
the  sand  lever,  and  with  a  few  exhausts  the  short 
train  was  moving  so  fast  that  the  trainmen  were 
unable  to  reach  it.  Out  over  the  switches, 
already  set  for  the  fast  freight,  and  down  the 
main  line  dashed  the  wild  driver,  while  a  flood 
of  fire  came  from  the  stack  and  rained  upon  the 
roofs  of  cars  and  switch  shanties  along  the  line. 
Flagmen,  coming  out  at  crossings  to  cheer  the 
fast  freight  with  a  white  signal  of  "all  right," 
saw  the  grim  face  of  Hansen  leaning  from  the 
cab ;  saw  his  white  teeth  shining,  and  his  yellow 
hair  streaming  back  over  his  shoulders,  as  the 
engine  dashed  by.  Farmers  along  the  line  saw 
a  great  shower  of  sparks  falling  in  their  fields, 
and  in  her  wake  the  wild  engine  left  a  sea  of 
burning  stubble  where  red  flames  leaped  from 
shock  to  rick. 

When  the  fireman,  dazed  and  stunned,  had 
been  picked  up  and  revived,  he  told  them  what 
had  happened,  and  a  despatch  was  sent  to  the 
first  station  out  to  "ditch"  the  13,  which  had 
broken  loose  from  her  train  and  was  running 
wild.  This  station  was  the  meeting  point  for 


52     THE  LOCOMOTIVE    THAT  LOST  HERSELF 

the  fast  freight  and  the  incoming  express,  and  if 
the  wild  engine  was  allowed  to  pass,  she  must 
surely  collide  with  the  passenger  train.  The 
operator,  who  was  on  duty  looking  out  for  these 
two  important  trains,  realized  the  situation  at  a 
glance,  and  opened  the  switch  at  the  farther  end 
of  the  siding  to  allow  the  13  to  go  into  the 
ditch  beyond  the  depot. 

Because  it  was  a  junction  point,  the  station 
was  located  at  the  foot  of  a  long  slope,  down 
which  Hansen  drove  at  a  frightful  rate.  What 
ever  of  speed  he  had  lost  by  losing  fire  and 
wasting  steam,  he  now  regained  on  the  down 
ward  grade.  So  great  was  the  speed  of  the 
train  that  when  the  engine  struck  the  first  switch 
she  left  the  track  and  plunged  into  the  depot, 
carrying  the  four  loaded  cars  with  her.  The 
fourth  car  contained  giant  powder  for  the 
miners  in  the  mountains,  and  this  now  exploded 
with  terrific  force.  The  agent  and  his  assistant 
had  stationed  themselves  near  the  other  switch 
to  witness  the  performance  of  the  wild  engine 
when  she  should  leave  the  rail,  and  so  escaped 
death.  Hansen's  escape  was  almost  miraculous. 
The  engine,  in  turning  over,  threw  him  upon  the 


THE  LOCOMOTIVE   THAT  LOST  HERSELF    53 

roof  of  the  low  station,  the  roof  was  blown  away 
by  the  explosion,  and  Hansen  was  carried  out 
into  the  prairie.  The  special  engine  and  crew 
that  followed  upon  her  blazing  trail  found  the 
13  buried  in  the  burning  station,  and  Hansen 
lying  unconscious  upon  the  star-lit  plain. 

The  blackened  fields  had  been  ploughed  and 
prepared  for  another  crop,  the  station  was  being 
rebuilt,  and  the  company's  claim  agent  was  busy 
settling  with  the  farmers  along  the  line,  before 
Hansen  was  able  to  walk  out  in  the  garden  back 
of  the  company's  hospital.  It  seemed  to  him, 
he  said,  that  he  had  been  ill  all  his  life,  and  that 
all  he  knew  was  the  short  life  he  had  lived  in 
the  hospital.  Back  of  that  all  was  a  blank,  save 
that  he  had  a  faint  notion  that  he  had  lived 
before,  and  that  the  world  out  of  which  he  had 
come  was  made  up  of  one  great  sorrow  from 
which  he  had  narrowly  escaped. 

"  Is  that  my  name  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  attend 
ant  one  day  when  his  reason  had  returned. 

"  Sure,"  said  the  nurse,  "  your  name  vas  Oscar 
—  don't  you  know  your  own  name?  " 

"Oh!  yes,"  said  the  patient  wearily,  "I  had 
forgotten.  What 's  my  other  name,  Oscar  what  ?  " 


54     THE  LOCOMOTIVE    THAT  LOST  HERSELF 

The  attendant  was  about  to  reply  when  the 
surgeon,  entering,  gave  sign  Jor  the  man  to  be 
quiet.  "  Restless,"  said  the  doctor,  taking  the 
patient's  hand,  and  the  sick  man  caught  at  the 
word,  the  meaning  of  which  his  wreck  of  a 
mind  scarcely  comprehended,  and  repeated  : 
"  Reslis  —  Oscar  Reslis  —  that 's  a  nice-sound 
ing  name." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  surgeon,  deciding  to  let  it  go 
at  that;  "  Oscar  Reslis  is  a  very  pretty  name." 

The  physical  condition  of  the  patient  im 
proved  rapidly  enough  now,  but  his  mental  con 
dition  continued  to  puzzle  the  chief  surgeon 
and  his  staff.  He  was  quiet  enough,  and 
seemed  anxious  to  be  alone  —  away  from  the 
other  patients  and  the  attendants.  He  would 
sit  for  hours  thinking,  thinking,  hard  and  long, 
upon  the  great  problem  of  life,  and  trying  to 
make  out  how  he  came  to  be.  The  attendants 
had  been  instructed  to  keep  a  close  watch 
upon  the  sick  man,  and  this,  as  his  reasoning 
powers  returned,  Hansen  detected.  "  Why  do 
you  follow  me  all  the  while?"  he  asked  of  his 
German  keeper  one  day,  when  the  latter  had 
trailed  him  down  in  the  garden. 


THE  LOCOMOTIVE   THAT  LOST  HERSELF    55 

"  To  se  so  dot  you  done  skedattle  —  flew 
der  coop — see?  Dat  vos  it." 

"Tell  me,  Fritz,"  Hansen  pleaded,  "where 
did  I  live  before  I  came  here?" 

"  Oh,  ho!"  exclaimed  the  German,  "you 
dink  I  vos  one  fool?  Der  doc  tell  me  I  shall 
not  speak  mit  you  about  your  past  life.  He  say 
I  must  use  say  nix,  une  blay  as  I  don't  lisen, 
see?" 

"  Then  tell  me  why  they  brought  me  here." 

"  Oh  !  I  mus  nit,  I  mus  nit  speak  mit  you 
about  your  sickness,  der  doc  sais ;  because,  he 
say,  it  will  make  you  nut  fly  off.  You  see  it  is 
nit  goot  for  you  to  know  so  much,  because  you 
been  kronk  in  der  cope  —  see  ?  Dot  vos  it. 
Doc  sais  you  must  not  told  a  man  vat  is  crazy 
dot  he  been  crazy,  for  dot  makes  him  some 
times  still  more  crazy  yet  again  already.  Dot 
is  it.  So  I  vill  not  say  anoder  veard  from 
you." 

Oscar  thought  a  great  deal  over  his  conver 
sation  with  Fritz,  and  as  the  days  went  by  he 
began  to  realize  that  he  was  a  prisoner;  that 
he  had  been  a  prisoner  once  before,  either  in 
this  world  or  the  other;  that  he  had  escaped, 


56     THE  LOCOMOTIVE    THAT  LOST  HERSELF 

and  he  must  escape  again.  All  his  time  was 
now  occupied  in  forming  plans  by  which  he 
might  free  himself  from  his  captors,  who  had 
no  right,  according  to  his  way  of  reasoning,  to 
hold  him. 

One  night  when  Fritz  was  asleep,  Oscar 
dressed  himself,  slid  down  the  rain-spout,  and 
reached  the  garden.  By  the  help  of  some 
grapevines  that  grew  there,  he  was  able  to 
scale  the  wall ;  and  once  free,  he  ran  away 
with  all  his  might,  not  caring  where  his  legs 
carried  him  so  they  bore  him  away  from  his 
prison.  It  happened  that,  as  he  reached  the 
yard,  a  freight  train  was  pulling  out,  and  seeing 
that  it  was  leaving  the  town,  he  boarded  it  and 
rode  away.  Upon  some  flat  cars  in  this  train 
there  were  a  number  of  narrow-gauge  locomo 
tives  going  out  to  a  mountain  road  then  being 
built  in  the  new  West,  and  in  the  fire-box  of 
one  of  these  engines  Hansen  hid.  The  train 
had  been  out  three  days,  and  was  almost  in 
sight  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  when  Hansen 
was  forced  by  hunger  from  his  hiding-place. 
He  was  put  off  at  an  eating-station,  and  the 
boarding  boss  took  care  of  him.  He  said  his 


THE  LOCOMOTIVE    THAT  LOST  HERSELF    57 

name  was  Oscar  Reslis;  and  when  he  was 
strong  enough  to  work  he  was  put  into  the 
kitchen  as  dishwasher.  But  being  sober  and 
industrious,  he  was  soon  promoted  to  be  second 
cook.  At  the  end  of  the  year,  when  the  cook 
got  drunk  and  lost  his  place,  Oscar  was  made 
chief  cook  at  one  of  the  best-known  eating- 
houses  on  the  K.  P.  He  was  a  little  queer  in 
his  actions,  but  they  all  attributed  his  eccen 
tricities  to  his  long  fast  in  the  fire-box  of  the 
dead  engine,  and  treated  him  with  greater 
consideration  than  he  would  otherwise  have 
received. 

When  they  had  hammered  the  kinks  out  of 
her  warped  and  twisted  frame,  and  smoothed 
the  dents  out  of  her  boiler,  the  luckless  locomo 
tive  was  rebuilt,  painted,  and  rolled  out  over 
the  turn-table  with  the  same  unlucky  number 
on  her  headlight.  Nobody  wanted  her  now. 
New  and  beautiful  as  she  was,  not  an  engineer 
asked  to  be  allowed  to  run  her.  After  she  had 
been  broken  in  again,  and  the  travelling  engi 
neer  had  passed  upon  her  fitness  for  the  road, 
she  was  ordered  out  on  local  freight.  She  had 
no  serious  trouble  for  some  months,  but  any 


58     THE  LOCOMOTIVE   THA  T  LOST  HERSELF 

number  of  minor  accidents  were  charged  up  to 
her  in  the  conductor's  delay  reports,  and  the 
work-book  in  the  round-house  was  written  full 
of  her  troubles.  At  the  end  of  the  year  it  was 
found  that  she  had  burned  more  coal,  used  more 
oil,  had  more  repairs,  cost  more  money,  made 
less  mileage,  and  injured  more  people  than  any 
engine  on  the  Smoky-Hill  division.  She  was 
placed  in  the  hands  of  one  of  the  most  experi 
enced  engineers,  but  she  made  the  same  bad 
record,  if  not  a  worse  one ;  and  neither  engi 
neer  nor  master  mechanic  was  able  to  put  a 
hand  upon  her  and  say  :  "  Here  she  is  wrong." 
Her  trouble  could  not  be  located,  and  most  of 
the  men  gave  it  up,  declaring  that  Hansen  had 
"hoo-dooed"  her.  One  day  her  throttle  flew 
open  and  stuck  as  it  had  upon  her  first  trip, 
causing  her  to  run  away,  kill  her  engineer,  and 
injure  a  number  of  trainmen.  After  that  she 
was  put  upon  a  construction  train,  and  made 
to  drag  outfit  cars  from  station  to  station  along 
the  line.  But  even  here  she  had  to  be  fol 
lowed  up  by  a  machine-shop  to  keep  her  on 
her  wheels. 

In  time  she  came  to  be  the  talk  of  the  whole 


THE  LOCOMOTIVE   THAT  LOST  HERSELF    59 

system.  If  a  man  had  a  special  or  a  fast 
freight  behind  him,  he  would  invariably  ask  the 
despatcher  where  the  13  was,  and  he  looked 
for  her  at  every  curve  until  he  had  found  and 
passed  her.  She  was  always  "due"  to  jump  the 
track  or  lie  down  between  stations  in  the  face 
of  the  fast  express.  She  became  so  notoriously 
unlucky  that  men  were  hardly  held  responsible 
for  her  capers.  Wrecks  that  would  have  cost 
the  driver  of  another  engine  ten  days  were  not 
reported  \  and  even  serious  accidents  her  engi 
neer  was  not  called  upon  to  explain.  So  long 
as  she  remained  at  the  other  end  of  the  line, 
the  master  mechanic  was  satisfied.  She  was 
a  "  hoo-doo." 

Meanwhile  Oscar  Reslis  had  become  an  ex 
pert  cook,  and  had  many  friends  at  the  little 
Western  town  that  was  a  flag  station  when  he 
stopped  there  to  break  his  long  fast.  His 
mind  seemed  clearer,  but  he  was  less  cheerful. 
A  settled  melancholy  seemed  fixed  upon  him, 
which  none  of  his  associates  was  able  to  under 
stand.  He  believed  in  the  transmigration  of 
souls.  Where  he  had  lived,  he  said,  he  had 
been  deeply  wronged  and  persecuted.  He  had 


60     THE  LOCOMOTIVE    THAT  LOST  HERSELF 

passed  through  a  great  sorrow,  and  to  his  ac 
quaintances  it  seemed  that  he  had  been  puri 
fied  by  pain.  He  lived  such  a  simple,  sinless 
life  that  those  about  him  believed  in  him  and 
in  the  faith  he  held,  and  in  time  he  had  a 
number  of  converts  to  what  they  called  the 
"  Reslis  religion."  He  was  constantly  preach 
ing.  "Strive  hard,  strive  hard,"  he  would  say 
to  those  about  him.  "  Remember  that  all  the 
good  you  do  in  this  life  will  count  for  you  in 
the  life  to  come.  The  more  you  suffer  here 
the  more  you  will  enjoy  there  —  be  patient." 

One  sultry  summer  day,  when  all  the  help 
were  complaining  of  the  heat  in  the  kitchen, 
the  patient  cook  surprised  them  by  beginning 
to  sing,  as  he  went  about  his  work,  a  thing  he 
had  never  done  before. 

"  I  think  I  shall  go  away  soon,"  he  said, 
when  the  second  cook  asked  the  cause  of  his 
apparent  happiness. 

"  Where  ?  Oh  !  that  I  do  not  know ;  but 
to  a  better  place  than  this,  I  hope.  Not  that 
this  is  a  bad  world ;  but  we  must  advance,  — 
go  on  and  up,  up  and  on,  until  we  reach  the 
perfect  life." 


THE   LOCOMOTIVE    THAT  LOST  HERSELF    6 1 

Suddenly  there  came  through  the  open  win 
dows  two  shrill  blasts  of  a  locomotive  whistle, 
and  instantly  Hansen's  face  grew  joyously 
bright. 

"  There  she  is  !  There  she  is  !  "  he  cried, 
bounding  out  of  the  kitchen,  and  clearing  the 
back  fence  at  a  single  leap.  And  now  he 
beheld  the  old  13  just  pulling  out  with  three  or 
four  outfit  cars  and  an  old,  rickety  caboose 
behind  her.  She  was  so  covered  with  alkali, 
dust,  and  grease,  that  her  number  could  not 
be  seen ;  but  he  had  heard  her  voice  and  knew 
her.  The  fireman  was  busy  at  the  furnace, 
the  engineer  was  looking  back  to  see  that  the 
yard  men  closed  the  switch  behind  him;  and 
so  the  cook  climbed  into  the  cab  unobserved. 
When  the  fireman  came  out  of  the  coal  tank 
and  found  the  man  there,  he  concluded  that 
the  engineer  had  given  him  permission  to  ride ; 
and  when  the  engineer  looked  over  and  saw 
the  fireman  fixing  a  seat  for  the  "  dead-head," 
he  thought  the  two  men  must  be  friends,  and, 
as  few  people  ever  came  into  the  cab,  he  was 
rather  pleased  to  find  a  man  reckless  enough 
to  ride  the  13. 


62     THE  LOCOMOTIVE    THAT  LOST  HERSELF 

The  Dane's  face  told  plainly  how  glad  he 
was  to  find  the  lost  idol  of  his  heart.  Dirty, 
disgraced,  —  almost  despised,  —  drudging  along 
in  front  of  her  wretched  train  of  rickety,  dust- 
covered  cars,  she  was  still  beautiful  to  him. 

The  engineer  was  doing  the  best  he  could 
with  the  old  scrap  heap,  for  there  was  a  pas 
senger  train  coming  from  the  west,  and  the 
first  siding  was  nearly  ten  miles  away.  It  had 
been  raining  down  the  line  the  night  before, 
and  the  parched  plain  was  fresh  and  cool. 
Both  the  engineer  and  the  fireman  were  much 
interested  in  the  bare-headed  passenger,  who 
seemed  about  as  happy  as  a  man  can  get  and 
live.  He  took  note  of  every  move  made  by 
the  engineer,  smiling  when  the  engine  blew  off 
steam,  and  frowning  when  the  driver  handled 
the  throttle  or  lever  in  a  rough  or  careless 
manner. 

"  Guess  this  is  your  first  ride  on  a  locomo 
tive,  eh?"  asked  the  driver. 

"My  first  ride?"  cried  Hansen.  "Don't 
you  know  me?  I  made  this  engine,  and  they 
took  her  from  me,  and  locked  me  up  in  a 
prison ;  but  I  shall  never  leave  her  again.  I 


THE   LOCOMOTIVE    THAT   LOST  HERSELF    63 

shall  scour  her  jacket,  polish  her  bell,  repaint 
her,  and  she  shall  pull  the  Denver  Express." 

"If  I  don't  b'leve  it 's  the  crazy  Dane,"  said 
the  engineer.  "  Wher  'd  you  git  'im?  " 

"  I  did  n't  git  'im  at  all,"  said  the  fireman. 
"  Wher 'd  you  git  'im?" 

"  Is  that  what  they  call  me  over  there  — 
back  there  where  we  used  to  live?"  asked 
Hansen,  almost  pathetically. 

The  engineer  made  no  reply ;  the  fireman 
shook  the  grates,  and  looked  out  over  the  plain, 
where  the  scant  grass,  taking  courage  from  the 
recent  rain,  made  a  feeble  effort  to  look  green 
and  cheerful. 

"  Open  her  up,"  shouted  Hansen.  "  Don't 
be  afraid  of  her.  We  shall  push  right  on  to 
the  end  of  the  run  —  until  we  find  a  round 
house  —  and  some  tools,  and  then  we  will 
rebuild  her.  How  handsome  she  will  look 
when  she  comes  out.  We  will  paint  her  black 
this  time  —  all  black  —  all  but  her  bell;  and 
that  shall  shine  like  burnished  gold.  Black 
will  become  us  now,  for  we  have  passed  through 
great  trials  since  our  separation.  How  they 
have  abused  you,  my  noble  steed,"  continued 


64     THE  LOCOMOTIVE    TffA  T  LOST  HERSELF 

the  man,  glancing  along  the  boiler  and  up  at 
the  stack. 

The  engine  began  to  roll  and  plunge  fear 
fully  now,  and  the  driver,  looking  out,  saw  that 
the  rain  had  been  very  heavy,  and  that  the 
track  was  almost  unsafe.  But  he  dare  not 
slow  down  because  of  his  close  meeting  point 
with  the  east-bound  express.  Instead  of  being 
frightened  at  the  capers  of  the  rolling,  plunging 
engine,  the  Dane  seemed  delighted,  and  leaned 
far  out  on  the  fireman's  side,  and  shouted  and 
laughed  as  the  world  went  by.  Although  the 
track  was  clear  and  straight,  the  driver  kept  a 
constant  lookout,  for  he  had  no  air,  and  the 
way  the  train  was  rolling  it  would  be  difficult 
for  the  trainmen  to  get  to  the  brakes,  and  when 
they  did  get  to  them  they  were  apt  to  be  out 
of  repair.  Occasionally  they  crossed  deep, 
narrow  gullies  on  wooden  bridges  that  shook  as 
the  engine  struck  them.  These  waterless  streams 
in  the  West  are  treacherous.  It  is  not  enough 
to  say  that  they  are  dry  one  hour  and  bank-full 
the  next ;  for  they  will  often  fill  to  overflowing 
in  a  single  minute.  The  water  at  times  will 
roll  down  in  a  solid  wall  ten  or  twelve  feet  high. 


THE  LOCOMOTIVE    THAT  LOST  HERSELF    65 

There  had  been  a  cloudburst  here,  and  suddenly 
the  driver  saw  the  sagging  rails  hanging  over  a 
deep  ravine.  The  bridge  was  gone,  and  there 
was  no  possible  show  for  them.  "Jump  !  "  he 
shouted,  and  the  fireman  leaped  out  into  the 
prairie,  and  the  engine  plunged  head  first  into 
the  stream,  now  almost  dry.  The  three  or  four 
outfit  cars  piled  in  on  top  of  the  engine,  and 
filled  up  the  gap,  while  the  caboose,  breaking 
her  coupling,  leaped  over  the  wreck,  and  was 
thrown  out  on  the  plain  beyond  the  washout. 

When  the  fireman  had  pulled  himself  to 
gether,  and  the  conductor  and  brakemen  had 
crawled  from  the  wrecked  caboose,  bruised  and 
bleeding,  they  went  in  search  of  the  engineer 
and  the  crazy  Dane.  What  they  found  and 
failed  to  find,  is  well  known  to  thousands  of 
railroad  men.  It  has  become  a  part  of  the 
history  of  the  road  and  of  the  West.  There  in 
the  bed  of  the  narrow  stream,  they  found  the 
outfit  cars  all  in  a  heap.  The  stream  —  only 
eight  or  ten  inches  of  clear  water  —  was  rip 
pling  through  and  around  the  wreck ;  but  the 
locomotive  was  gone,  and  so  was  her  driver, 
and  so  was  the  Dane.  The  men  stared  at 


66     THE  LOCOMOTIVE    THAT  LOST  HERSELF 

one  another,  and  when  the  fireman  told  them 
that  the  crazy  inventor  was  on  the  engine,  they 
were  seized  with  a  strange  terror,  and  they  all 
turned  and  scrambled  up  the  bank.  Far  down 
the  plain  they  saw  the  smoke  of  a  locomotive, 
and  they  thought  that  the  crazy  Dane  must 
have  caused  the  13  to  leap  over  the  washout. 
It  must  be  so,  for  the  engine  had  disappeared, 
and  this  discovery  served  only  to  increase  their 
bewilderment. 

Presently  the  conductor  thought  of  his  run 
ning  orders  and  of  the  east-bound  express, 
which  they  were  running  to  meet  at  the  siding 
only  a  mile  beyond  the  washout,  and,  securing 
a  soiled  flag  from  the  old  caboose,  he  ran  with 
all  his  might  to  meet  and  flag  the  approaching 
train.  The  arrival  of  the  express  explained 
away  the  smoke  they  had  seen,  and  made  it 
plain  to  the  crew  of  the  work-train  that  their 
engine  had  not  escaped,  but  that  she  was  some 
where  in  the  quicksand  of  the  little  stream. 
It  was  some  time  before  the  crew  and  the  pas 
sengers  of  the  express  could  bring  themselves  to 
believe  the  story  told  by  the  bewildered  freight 
crew.  They  went  down  into  the  stream,  waded 


•  THE   LOCOMOTIVE    THAT  LOST  HERSELF    67 

into  the  water,  and  found  the  sand  firm  enough 
to  hold  a  man  up,  and  some  of  the  passengers 
said  the  men  were  crazy,  and  would  not  believe 
the  tale  they  told.  What  wonder  then,  if 
these  men,  who  were  there  only  a  few  minutes 
after  the  wreck,  doubted  this  story,  that  men 
laugh  to-day  when  the  enterprising  newsboy 
points  out  the  place  where  the  engine  went 
down  and  disappeared  in  the  sand? 

The  railway  officials,  however,  did  not  doubt 
the  story,  and  they  came  and  dug  and  drifted, 
prospected,  and  ploughed  around  in  the  desert 
sands  all  night  and  all  the  next  day.  After 
the  bridge  had  been  rebuilt  they  went  at  it  in 
earnest.  For  days  and  weeks  and  months  they 
worked  away,  digging  and  sounding  in  the  sand, 
and  when  thousands  of  dollars  had  been  ex 
pended  they  gave  it  up.  The  lost  locomotive 
has  never  been  found.1 

1  The  following  letters,  recently  received  by  the 
author,  will  be  of  interest  to  the  reader  :  — 

Office  of  the  General  Superintendent. 

UNION   PACIFIC  RAILWAY  COMPANY, 

DENVER,  COLORADO,  March  i,  1896. 
CY  WARMAN,  Esq.,  Washington,  D.  C. 

The  lost  locomotive  of  which  you  inquire  went  down 
in  Sand  Creek,  a  few  hours'  run  east  of  Denver ;  and 


68     THE  LOCOMOTIVE    THAT  LOST  HERSELF 

although  thousands  of  dollars  have  been  expended  by 
the  company,  the  engine  has  never  been  found. 

Respectfully  yours, 
W.  A.  DEUEL,  General  Supt.,  U.  P.  Ry. 

THE    DENVER  AND  Rio  GRANDB  RAILROAD  COMPANY, 
(Treasury   Department). 

DENVER,  COLORADO,  March  21,  1896. 
MR.  CY  WARMAN,  Washington,  D.  C. 

MY  DEAR  CY,  —  I  remember  the  story  of  the  engine 
going  down  in  Sand  Creek ;  and,  so  far  as  I  know,  it 
has  never  been  recovered. 

With  best  wishes,  I  am,  hastily,  sincerely  yours, 
J.  W.  GILLULY,  Treasurer  of  the  D.  6°  R.  G.  RR. 


21  OTilD  jliigtit  at  OTooU  Mtfcer 


A  WILD  NIGHT  AT  WOOD  RIVER 


"  T^EEP  that  kid  quiet,"  said  Bankers  in  a 
hoarse  whisper. 

"  I  'm  doing  the  best  I  can,"  said  his  wife, 
trying  to  hush  the  little  one  who  was  sobbing 
and  moaning  in  her  lap.  In  the  baby's  milk 
wagon  a  bitter  fight  was  going  on  between  pare 
goric  and  pain,  and  the  latter  was  dying  hard. 
The  wind  drove  the  rain  against  the  side  of  the 
car  and  made  it  rock  to  and  fro.  "  Emma," 
said  Mrs.  Bankers  to  her  friend,  "  take  that 
bottle  and  hold  it  between  you  and  a  crack  in 
the  car,  and  when  it  lightens  drop  ten  drops 
into  the  spoon.  I  suppose  we  must  not  strike 
a  light." 

"  You  bet  you  don't  strike  any  light  here  un 
less  you  are  ready  to  give  up  your  chignon," 
said  Bankers,  without  taking  his  eyes  from  the 
crack  through  which  he  was  peeping.  Emma 


72  A    WILD  NIGHT  A  T   WOOD   RIVER 

took  the  bottle,  and  at  each  flash  of  lightning 
dropped  a  drop  of  hush  medicine  into  the 
spoon,  and  when  she  had  put  in  ten  drops  they 
gave  it  to  the  baby.  That  made  twenty  drops ; 
it  was  dangerous,  but  it  was  sure  death  to  all 
of  them  if  the  baby  cried  aloud. 

The  rain  came  in  great  sheets  and  with  such 
force  that  it  seemed  that  the  car  could  hardly 
hold  the  rail.  It  was  not  a  Pullman  car ;  just  a 
common  red  stock  car  standing  on  a  siding, 
with  a  few  armfuls  of  straw  upon  the  floor. 
Occasionally  Bankers  turned  to  glance  at  the 
two  women  who  were  crouching  in  one  end  of 
the  car,  and  when  the  lightning  lit  up  their  faces 
they  were  fearful  to  behold.  Now  the  rain, 
cold  as  sleet,  came  through  the  cracks  in  the 
car  and  stung  the  faces  of  those  within.  Mrs. 
Bankers  had  seen  three  winters  at  Wood  River, 
but  her  friend,  the  young  woman  who  had  come 
out  to  western  Nebraska  to  teach  school,  was  in 
every  sense  a  tenderfoot,  and  the  experience  of 
this  wild  night  had  almost  driven  her  mad. 

"  There  they  are,"  whispered  Bankers.  Now 
the  women  put  their  eyes  to  a  crack,  and  when 
a  flash  came  they  could  see  a  reef  of  feathered 


A    WILD   NIGHT  A  T   WOOD  RIVER  73 

heads  that  formed  a  half  circle  around  the 
house  like  a  feather  boa  about  a  woman's  neck. 
Half  the  band  dismounted  and  made  a  rush  for 
the  cottage.  The  door  was  broken,  and  the 
red  devils  swarmed  in.  One  of  them  took  a 
newspaper  and  lighted  it  at  the  open  fireplace 
to  make  a  torch,  and  by  the  light  of  it  the  little 
party  in  the  stock  car  could  see  the  Sioux  run 
ning,  half  crouching,  from  room  to  room,  in 
search  of  the  occupants.  Finding  the  place 
deserted,  and  smarting  under  their  disappoint 
ment,  the  Indians  now  set  fire  to  the  house, 
and  by  the  light  of  it  started  to  loot  the  railroad 
station,  less  than  a  hundred  yards  away. 

The  station  agent  had  been  warned,  as  the 
others  had  been,  by  a  Pawnee  scout,  but  had 
bravely  refused  to  leave  his  post.  He  had  made 
no  light,  but  sat  in  one  end  of  the  dark  little 
room  which  served  as  ticket  office,  telegraph 
office,  and  sleeping  room,  and  as  the  Indians 
approached  opened  fire.  At  the  very  first  shot 
the  leader  of  the  murderous  band  leaped  high 
into  the  air,  came  down  on  his  feet,  leaped  up 
again  and  again,  and  finally  fell  in  a  heap  to 
rise  no  more.  With  a  deafening  yell  the  angry 


74  A    WILD  NIGHT  AT  WOOD  RIl'ER 

band  made  a  rush  for  the  door,  and  began  to 
beat  against  it  with  tomahawks,  clubs,  and  guns. 
Having  emptied  his  rifle,  the  agent  now  took 
up  a  pair  of  45 -calibre  revolvers,  and  the  lead 
fairly  rattled  against  the  door,  and  no  fewer 
than  a  half  dozen  savages  sank  to  the  platform, 
causing  the  besiegers  to  fall  back  a  space. 
From  a  distance  they  began  to  pour  the  lead 
into  the  building,  but  the  agent,  crouching  be 
hind  the  little  iron  safe,  was  still  unhurt.  An 
Indian  brought  a  torch  from  the  burning  cot 
tage  and  attempted  to  fire  the  station,  but  the 
rain  and  wind  put  out  the  fire.  Two  or  three 
Sioux,  noticing  a  string  of  cars  upon  the  siding, 
began  to  search  for  stock  or  eatable  freight. 
From  car  to  car  they  ran,  thrusting  their  rifles 
into  the  straw.  "  Uh  ! "  said  an  old  buck,  as 
his  rifle  found  something  soft  in  one  of  the  cars, 
and  Bankers  felt  a  hurt  in  his  short  ribs.  Lay 
ing  hold  of  the  side  of  the  car,  the  Indian  began 
to  pull  and  strain.  By  the  merest  chance  he 
had  taken  hold  of  the  car  door,  and  now  as  it 
opened  he  thrust  his  hideous  head  inside. 
Bankers  could  have  blown  the  top  of  the  Sioux's 
head  off,  but  he  knew  that  to  fire  would  be  to 


A    WILD  NIGHT  AT   WOOD  RIVER  75 

attract  a  dozen  redskins,  against  whom  he  could 
not  hope  to  hold  out  long.  The  women  scarcely 
breathed.  The  baby,  full  of  paregoric,  slept  as 
though  it  had  already  entered  upon  its  final  rest. 
The  other  two  Indians  had  given  up  the  search 
among  the  empty  cars,  and  gone  back  to  the 
station,  where  the  agent,  having  reloaded  all 
his  guns,  kept  the  gang  hopping  and  dancing 
about  the  station  platform.  The  old  Sioux  at 
the  car  door  cocked  his  head  and  listened.  He 
must  have  fancied  he  heard  something  breathe, 
for  now  he  put  his  hands  upon  the  sill  and 
leaped  into  the  car.  He  had  scarcely  straight 
ened  up  when  Bankers' s  rifle  barrel  fell  across 
his  feathered  head,  and  he  dropped  like  a  beef. 
The  schoolma'am  uttered  a  faint  scream,  and 
that  was  the  last  sound  that  came  from  her 
corner  for  some  time.  The  Sioux  never  moved 
a  finger,  and  Bankers,  having  removed  the  war 
rior's  firearms  and  ammunition,  gave  the  gun 
over  to  his  wife,  and  then  covered  the  dead 
Sioux  with  straw.  Already  the  little  frame 
cottage  had  burned  to  the  ground,  and  the  rain 
had  nearly  quenched  the  fire.  Every  attempt 
made  by  the  band  to  fire  the  station  had  ended 


76  A    U'lLD   NIGHT  AT   H'OOD   RIVER 

in  failure,  and  the  Sioux  were  now  preparing  to 
storm  the  fort.  It  was  hard  for  Bankers  to  keep 
quiet  in  the  car  while  the  agent  sold  his  life  so 
bravely  and  so  dearly  to  the  Sioux,  but  there 
were  his  wife  and  baby  and  the  helpless  school- 
ma'am,  who  had  been  persuaded  by  the  Bank- 
erses  to  come  to  this  wild  region,  and  he  felt  it 
his  duty  to  protect  them  as  best  he  could. 
Presently  Bankers  felt  the  stock  car  vibrate  per 
ceptibly,  as  though  it  were  being  rolled  slowly 
along  the  rail.  His  first  thought  was  that  the 
Indians  were  pushing  the  empty  cars  down  near 
the  station,  and  that  they  would  set  fire  to  the 
straw,  and  then  there  would  be  no  possible 
escape.  Now  there  was  a  roar  as  of  an  ap 
proaching  train,  and  an  instant  later  a  great 
dark  object  hove  in  sight  and  rolled  past  the 
car.  It  was  a  locomotive  drawing  a  dozen  box 
cars  and  running  without  a  headlight.  The 
shouts  of  the  besiegers,  the  rattle  of  rifles,  and 
the  wild  cry  of  the  night  prevented  the  Sioux 
from  feeling  the  vibration  or  hearing  the  sound 
of  the  approaching  train. 

The  agent,  who  had  been  severely  wounded, 
now  crawled  to   the  key  and  called  Ogallala. 


A    WILD  NIGHT  AT  WOOD  RIVER  77 

At  the  first  attack  he  had  wired  for  help,  and 
now  he  told  the  operator  there  he  could  hold 
the  place  only  a  little  while  longer.  The  agent 
was  still  at  the  key  when  the  engine,  rolling  up 
to  the  station,  shook  the  building,  and  he  knew, 
the  moment  he  felt  the  quiver  of  it,  that  help 
was  at  hand.  Instantly  the  doors  of  the  box 
cars  came  open,  and  a  company  of  Government 
scouts,  all  Pawnees,  except  the  officers,  leaped 
to  the  platform  just  as  the  band  of  Sioux  were 
making  their  last  desperate  charge  upon  the 
station.  Before  they  could  realize  that  reen- 
forcements  were  at  hand,  the  Sioux  were  beset 
by  the  scouts,  who  always  fought  to  kill.  The 
battle  was  short  and  decisive,  and  when  the 
Sioux  fled  they  left  more  than  half  their  number 
upon  the  field. 

Probably  the  most  anxious  man  in  the  whole 
party  was  the  conductor  of  the  special  train  that 
had  brought  the  scouts  from  Ogallala.  He  had 
ridden  all  the  way  on  the  locomotive,  and  the 
moment  the  train  stopped  he  had  leaped  to 
the  ground,  and  gone  through  a  shower  of 
bullets  to  where  the  cottage  which  had  been  the 
home  of  the  Bankerses  had  stood.  The  sisrht 


78  A    IYJLD  NIGHT  AT   H'OOD   RIl'ER 

of  the  house  in  ashes  made  him  sick  at  heart, 
but  there  was  still  hope ;  they  might  have  taken 
refuge  in  the  station,  and,  facing  about,  the 
fearless  conductor  fought  his  way  to  the  door. 
By  this  time  the  Sioux  were  giving  all  their 
attention  to  the  scouts,  and  the  conductor 
forced  his  body  through  the  shot-riddled  door. 
The  agent  lay  upon  the  floor  in  a  pool  of  his 
own  blood,  but  he  was  still  alive.  "  Where  are 
they?"  asked  the  conductor,  glancing  about 
the  dark  room. 

"  Among  the  stock  cars,  if  they  are  still 
alive,"  was  the  reply  which  came  in  a  faint 
whisper.  "  I  saw  them  leaving  the  house  at 
dusk  —  go  to  them  —  I'm  —  I  'm  all  right ;  " 
and  the  conductor,  having  placed  the  wounded 
man  upon  his  bed,  made  for  the  stock  cars. 

"  Bankers,  where  are  you?"  he  called;  and 
Bankers  answered,  only  two  cars  away.  Now 
the  conductor  lighted  his  white  light  and  climbed 
into  the  car.  The  brave  Mrs.  Bankers  greeted 
him  with  a  smile  that  soon  changed  to  tears, 
for  in  the  light  of  the  hand-lamp  she  had  seen 
her  baby's  face,  and  it  looked  like  the  face  of  a 
dead  child.  "  Emma,"  she  called  excitedly, 


A     WILD  NIGHT  AT   WOOD   RIVER  79 

but  there  was  no  answer.  "  Is  she  dead?" 
cried  the  conductor,  falling  upon  his  knees 
and  holding  the  light  close  to  his  sweetheart's 
face. 

"  No,  you  chump,"  said  Bankers ;  "  she  only 
fainted  when  I  killed  this  Sioux ; "  and  he 
gave  the  dead  Indian  a  kick  and  rolled  him 
out  of  the  car. 

"But  the  baby?"  pleaded  Mrs.  Bankers. 

"She's  all  right,"  said  the  husband.  "Only 
a  little  too  much  paregoric."  And  so  it  proved. 

"  Here,  Em,"  said  Bankers,  shaking  the  young 
woman,  who  was  regaining  consciousness,  "  brace 
up.  You  Ve  got  company." 

"Are  we  all  safe?"  asked  the  schoolma'am, 
feeling  for  her  back  hair.  "  Oh,  my  dear,  brave 
friend,  you  have  saved  us  all !  " 

"  Yes,  I  played ,"  said  Bankers,  "  hiding 

here  in  the  straw  while  the  agent  was  being 
murdered." 

"But  you  saved  the  women,"  said  the  con 
ductor,  who  was  overjoyed  at  finding  all  alive. 

"  Yes,"  said  Bankers,  "  that 's  something,  after 
all." 

And  all  this  is  not  a  dream.     It  is  only  a 


8o  A    WILD  NIGHT  A  T   WOOD  RIVER 

scrap  of  the  history  of  the  early  days  of  the 
Union  Pacific.  The  brave  station  agent  is  an 
old  man  now,  and  one  of  his  legs  is  shorter 
than  the  other,  —  the  one  that  was  shot  that 
night.  The  baby,  having  recovered  from  her 
severe  tussle  with  colic  and  paregoric,  is  now 
one  of  the  most  charming  women  in  a  West 
ern  city.  The  conductor  of  the  soldier  train 
is  at  this  writing  a  general  superintendent  of  a 
well-known  railway.  The  snows  of  forty  winters 
have  fallen  upon  his  wife's  hair.  It  is  almost 
white,  but  her  face  is  still  young  and  handsome, 
and  I  remember  that  she  blushed  when  tell 
ing  this  story  to  me,  and  recalling  the  fact  that 
she  had  fainted  in  a  stock  car  on  that  wild 
night  at  Wood  River. 


OTafealona 


WAKALONA 


HpHE  old  engineer  and  I  had  dragged  our 
chairs  round  to  the  south  side  of  the 
hospital  and  were  enjoying,  as  well  as  the 
weak  and  wounded  could  be  expected  to  enjoy, 
the  mountain  air  and  the  morning.  June  was 
in  the  mountains,  but  the  snow  was  still  heavy 
on  the  high  peaks.  The  yellow  river,  soiled 
by  the  Leadville  smelters,  and  still  freighted 
with  floating  mush-ice,  splashed  by  on  its  way 
to  Pueblo  and  the  Tierra  Caliente.  The  little 
gray,  glad- faced  surgeon  came  along  presently 
and  told  Frank  that  he  might  go  home  on 
Saturday,  and  that  made  the  old  engineer, 
usually  a  little  mite  cranky  and  irritable, 
as  happy  as  a  boy  about  to  be  loosed  from 
school. 

"  Say,    Frank,"    I    began,    "  did    you    ever 
catch  up  with  an  Indian  girl   who  could,  by 


84  WAKALONA 


any    stretch    of    imagination,    be    considered 
handsome?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  placing  well  his 
foot  on  the  top  of  the  railing  and  frowning 
from  mere  force  of  habit.  "  We  were  laying  at 
North  Platte  at  the  time,  that  being  the  end  of 
the  track,  and  there  I  knew  a  Pawnee  maiden 
who  was  really  good  to  look  upon.  I  never 
knew  her  name ;  we  called  her  *  Walk-alone  ' 
at  first  because  she  seemed  'never  to  mix  up 
with  the  other  squaws,  but  when  Slide  Mc- 
Alaster,  the  head  brakeman  on  the  construction 
train,  began  to  make  love  to  her  he  named  her 
Wakalona,  which  he  thought  a  more  fitting 
title,  inasmuch  as  she  had  already  been  called 
by  Colonel  Cody,  the  Princess  of  the  Platte. 

"  Wakalona's  father,  Red  Fox,  was  one  of 
the  bravest  of  the  Pawnee  scouts,  and  his 
daughter  was  naturally  something  of  a  belle 
among  her  people.  She  was  tall,  tawny,  grace 
ful,  willowy,  and  wild.  It  was  a  long  while 
before  Slide,  big,  blonde,  and  handsome  as  he 
was,  could  gain  the  confidence  of  the  stately 
princess.  It  was  months  before  she  would 
allow  him  to  walk  with  her,  and  even  then  the 


WAKALONA  85 


feathered  head  of  a  jealous  buck  could  always 
be  seen  peeping  from  the  high  grass  and  keep 
ing  constant  watch  over  the  girl.  Wakalona, 
like  the  other  women,  worked  in  the  fields  when 
there  were  any  fields  to  be  worked,  and  at  other 
times  made  herself  useful  about  her  father's 
tent.  Her  mother  was  dead.  She  was  the 
only  child  her  father  had,  and  he  was  very 
proud  of  her.  In  a  battle  between  the  Sioux 
and  the  Pawnees  near  Ogallala  the  Sioux  had 
captured  Wakalona  and  her  father,  and  Buffalo 
Bill  had  rescued  her,  almost  miraculously,  from 
four  of  their  foemen,  three  of  whom  they  had 
slain.  After  that  the  Sioux  had  marked  Red 
Fox  and  his  daughter  as  their  own,  and  many 
lures  had  been  set  to  ensnare  them.  At  North 
Platte  Red  Fox  had  planted  a  little  field  of 
corn,  and  it  was  here,  when  the  sun  was  low, 
that  Slide  used  to  woo  the  dark-eyed  Princess 
of  the  Platte.  I  used  to  watch  her  working  in 
the  field,  and  when  we  whistled  she  would  al 
ways  pause  in  her  labors  and  look  up  to  make 
sure  that  it  was  the  whistle  of  the  49,  although 
she  never  looked  up  for  the  whistle  of  any 
other  engine.  I  think,  as  she  began  to  lose 


86  WAKALONA 


her  heart  to  McAlaster,  that  she  came  to  know 
the  sound  even  of  the  bell  and  the  rattle  of  the 
spring-hangers  on  the  old  work  engine.  Jim 
was  McAlaster's  real  name  ;  we  called  him  Slide 
because  he  could  never  set  a  brake,  if  he  used 
both  hands,  without  twisting  it  up  so  tight  that 
the  wheels  would  slide,  so  marvelously  strong 
were  his  long  sinewy  arms.  When  we  were 
coming  into  the  Platte  on  a  summer's  evening 
Slide  used  to  jump  off  the  engine,  where  he 
always  rode,  open  the  switch,  close  it  behind 
the  caboose,  and  then  stroll  over  into  the  little 
corn  field  where  Wakalona  worked. 

"  Now  she  always  knew  he  was  coming,  but 
like  her  white  sisters  she  liked  to  play  that  she 
did  n't,  and  when  he  would  steal  up  behind 
her  and  catch  her  in  his  arms  (if  no  one 
was  looking),  she  would  start  and  shudder  as 
naturally  as  a  country  schoolma'am. 

"  We  went  in  the  ditch  one  day.  Slide  had 
his  ankle  sprained  and  was  obliged  to  ride  in 
that  evening  in  the  caboose.  I  whistled,  as 
usual,  for  the  station,  and  in  the  twilight  saw 
the  Indian  girl  still  working  in  the  field  and 
waiting  for  the  sweet  surprise  for  which  she 


WAKALONA  87 


had  learned  to  wait.  As  we  pulled  in  over  the 
switches  I  glanced  out  into  the  field  again, 
feeling  sorry  for  Slide  and  for  his  sweetheart  as 
well,  but  now  she  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
When  we  had  made  the  big  brakeman  comfort 
able  in  the  hospital  tent,  he  signalled  me  ahead, 
and  when  I  bent  over  him  he  pulled  me  down 
and  whispered,  « Wakalona,'  and  I  knew  what 
he  meant.  I  found  her  father  and  told  him 
that  the  brakeman  had  been  hurt,  and  asked 
him  to  allow  his  daughter  to  see  the  sufferer  in 
the  surgeon's  tent.  Red  Fox  was  much  sur 
prised.  We  had  been  an  hour  late  coming  in 
that  evening,  it  was  now  dark,  and  Wakalona 
had  not  been  seen  by  any  of  her  people  since 
the  setting  of  the  sun.  I  told  the  warrior  that 
I  had  seen  her  working  in  the  field  as  we  were 
nearing  the  station  and  how,  when  I  looked 
again  a  moment  later,  she  was  gone. 

"With  a  start  the  brave  chieftain  threw  up 
his  hands,  and  then  controlling  himself  with  a 
great  effort,  he  signed  to  me  and  I  followed  him 
out  into  the  field.  The  Indian  put  his  face 
close  to  the  ground,  when  I  had  shown  him 
where  she  was  standing  when  I  saw  her  last, 


88  WAKALONA 


and  when  he  straightened  up  he  looked  all 
about  him  and  said,  '  Sioux.'  I  brought  a 
white  light  from  the  locomotive  and,  by  the  light 
of  it,  the  wily  Indian  made  out  that  two  of  the 
hated  tribe  had  slipped  up  behind  the  helpless 
girl  and  seized  her  and  carried  her  away. 
Presently  he  brought  a  blade  of  corn  to  me  and 
upon  it  there  was  a  tiny  drop  of  blood,  and  yet 
he  insisted  that  his  daughter  had  not  been 
killed.  Later  he  assured  me  that  she  had  not 
been  carried,  but  had  walked  away  taking  a 
different  direction  from  that  taken  by  the  Sioux. 
Now  I  saw  it  all.  She  had  heard  our  whistle 
and  while  she  waited  for  her  lover,  the  panther- 
like  Sioux  had  stolen  upon  her. 

"What  mental  anguish  must  have  been  hers 
when  she  realized  that,  instead  of  the  protecting 
arms  of  her  fair  god,  the  arms  of  murderers  were 
around  her.  Love,  like  the  locomotive,  is  a 
great  civilizer.  Wakalona  had  tasted  the  joy  of 
love,  and  life  had  become  dear  to  her.  The 
past,  for  her,  was  veiled  in  dark  mystery,  the 
future  was  little  better,  but  already  she  had 
begun  to  feel  that  beyond  it  all  there  must  be  a 
brighter  and  better  world.  Once  she  had  asked 


WAKALONA  89 


McAlaster  about  the  future  and  he,  touched  by 
the  earnestness  of  her  nature,  had  told  her  in 
his  own  way  a  story  his  mother  had  told  to  him 
many  a  time,  —  the  story  of  the  Christ.  '  Think 
of  a  big  awkward  clown  like  me,'  said  Slide, 
'  trying  to  unravel  the  mysteries  of  the  future,  — 
trying  to  convert  this  white- souled  woman  who, 
without  knowing  it,  has  been  the  means  of  mak 
ing  me  a  better  man.' 

"  I  Ve  noticed  all  along,  though,  that  love  of 
a  good  woman  always  makes  a  man  gentler, 
braver,  and  better. 

"  When  Red  Fox  had  explained  to  me  that 
Wakalona  had  not  been  killed  but  had  wandered 
away,  I  urged  him  to  call  the  scouts  and  search 
the  plains  for  her,  but  he  shook  his  head.  '  It 
is  true  that  my  child  has  not  been  killed,'  he 
said  sadly,  '  but  she  is  dead.  It  is  true  that  she 
still  walks  the  earth,  but  she  is  dead  to  me  and 
to  all  her  people ; '  and  the  great  brave  bowed 
his  head  in  silent  sorrow. 

"  Then  I  remembered  having  heard  that  an 
Indian  who  had  lost  his  scalp  was  looked  upon 
as  one  demented  or  dead,  and  I  knew  then 
what  had  happened  to  the  Princess  Wakalona. 


90  WAKALONA 


"  How  best  to  break  the  news  to  poor 
McAlaster  was  a  question  over  which  I  pon 
dered  on  my  way  back  to  the  camp.  He  was 
strong  and  sensible.  He  had  seen  many  a 
comrade  pulled  out  of  a  wreck  mangled  almost 
beyond  recognition.  He  had  been  in  more 
than  one  Indian  fight,  but  he  had  never  lain 
helpless  upon  a  stretcher  and  listened  to  a  tale 
such  as  I  might  tell,  and  I  would  not  tell  it. 
I  'd  lie  first  and  so  I  did.  And  while  I  framed 
a  story  of  how  Wakalona  had  gone  that  very 
day  to  visit  a  neighboring  camp,  the  poor  Prin 
cess  wandered  over  the  prairie.  All  night  she 
walked  the  trackless  wilds  and  when  the  stars 
paled,  laid  down  upon  the  damp  earth  to  sleep. 
She  knew  that  she  was  expected  to  die,  that 
she  ought  to  die,  but  she  shunned  death ;  not 
from  any  dread  of  it  but  for  the  love  of  life. 
No  doubt  she  fully  intended  to  die,  but  she 
would  put  the  thought  of  it  by  for  a  little  longer 
and  dream  of  the  pale-faced  brave.  Ah,  he 
might  love  her  still,  who  could  tell,  for  the 
white  people  were  so  strange.  She  slept  and 
doubtless  dreamed  of  the  little  field,  of  her 
father,  of  the  twilight  time  and  of  the  sweet 


WAKALONA  91 


surprise  of  her  lover's  arms  about  her,  and  then 
she  started  up  suddenly,  putting  her  hand  to 
her  head,  and  the  recollection  of  her  misfor 
tune  made  her  heart  sad  and  soon  she  slept 
again. 

"  When  she  awoke  the  sun  was  high  in  the 
heavens.  She  was  hungry  and  thirsty.  The 
blood  had  dried  in  her  midnight  hair,  and  now 
she  went  down  to  the  river  to  drink  and  bathe 
her  fevered  face.  Then  she  sat  by  the  river  for 
a  long  time  trying  to  make  up  her  mind  to  die, 
but  she  could  not.  There  was  a  certain  amount 
of  mystery  about  the  river,  and  she  liked  to  look 
upon  its  quiet  face.  Where  did  it  come  from 
and  where  was  it  going?  Then,  in  her  wild 
way,  she  likened  her  life  to  the  river.  Where 
did  she  come  from  and  where  was  she  going? 
She  could  n't  make  it  out.  CXily,  she  remem 
bered  that  her  teacher,  the  brakeman,  had  said 
something  about  another  world  beyond  the  sky, 
but  he  was  still  in  this  world  and  she  was  loath 
to  leave  it ;  and  so  she  sat  all  through  the  long 
summer  day  with  her  hands  locked  over  her 
knees,  rocking  to  and  fro,  half  crooning  and 
half  moaning :  — 


92  WAKALONA 


1  When  the  great  red  sun  is  half  in  the  sky 
And  half  in  the  earth,  then  the  dead  must  die.' 

"  She  knew  that  she  was  counted  among  the 
dead  by  her  people,  and  if  she  returned  to  them 
she  would  be  drowned  in  this  river  when  the 
sun  went  down. 

"  Yes,  it  was  clearly  her  duty  now  to  die,  and 
she  would  drown  herself  at  the  set  of  sun. 
Having  reconciled  herself  to  her  fate  she  fell 
asleep,  and  when  she  awoke  the  sky  was  all 
studded  with  stars.  She  had  slept  over  the 
death  time  and  now  must  await  another  sunset. 
She  went  down  to  the  river  and  bathed  her 
face.  Oh,  the  mystery  of  the  river!  Where 
did  it  come  from  and  where  was  it  going? 
Would  it  bear  her  back  to  her  lost  lover?  No, 
it  was  flowing  toward  the  morning  and  would 
carry  her  farther  away.  She  turned  away, 
haunted  by  the  conviction  that  she  had  no 
place  in  this  world,  for  she  had  heard  them 
sing  in  the  death  chant :  — 

'  The  shadows  lie  upon  the  shore, 
The  dead  shall  walk  the  earth  no  more.' 

"  And  yet  she  could  not  put  out  of  her  heart 
the  longing  to  live ;  and,  setting  her  face  from 


WAKALONA  93 


those  she  loved,  she  wandered  out  over  the 
star-lit  plain.  All  night  she  tramped  through 
the  sagebrush  with  never  a  pause  for  rest  or 
sleep,  and  when  the  red  sun  swung  out  of  the 
earth,  she  tramped  on  and  on.  The  sun  poured 
its  pitiless  rays  upon  her  wounded  head,  her 
soiled  mantle  trailed  upon  the  dewy  earth,  her 
tired  feet  were  torn  and  bleeding,  and  yet  to 
all  these  ills  she  gave  no  thought.  Vaguely 
now  she  remembered  that  she  had  a  fixed  pur 
pose,  a  certain  duty  to  perform,  and  that  was  to 
be  the  end  of  all.  She  must  not  lose  sight  of 
the  river;  but  even  now  when  she  looked  for 
it,  the  river  was  not  to  be  seen.  Her  lips  were 
parched,  her  throat  seemed  to  be  burning. 
The  wide  waste  o'er  which  she  wandered  lay 
quivering  in  the  white  glare  of  the  noonday  sun. 
Away  at  the  outer  edge  of  this  shipless  sea, 
the  gray  air  trembled;  her  brain  whirled,  she 
swooned  and  fell  to  the  earth. 

"  The  cool  night  wind  was  about  her  when 
she  came  to  herself  again,  but  she  could  re 
member  but  dimly  the  events  of  the  past ;  and 
so,  half-dazed,  she  wandered  on.  Late  in  the 
afternoon  she  came  to  a  little  station  where 


94  WAKALONA 


there  was  a  lone  operator  and  a  water  tank. 
The  station  agent  gave  her  food  and  offered 
her  shelter,  but  she  shook  her  head  and  asked 
him  where  the  river  lay.  The  spectacle  of 
a  woman  wandering  about  half-crazed,  half- 
starved,  and  alone,  was  a  sad  one ;  and  the 
operator,  feeling  his  own  utter  loneliness,  tried 
to  persuade  her  to  stay.  Pointing  to  the  west, 
she  began  to  chant : — 

'  When  the  great  red  sun  is  half  in  the  sky 
And  half  in  the  earth,  then  the  dead  must  die/ 

"  Then  she  bared  her  bowed  head,  and  he 
saw  the  little  round  red  spot  where  the  skin 
had  been  cut  away,  and  understood.  This 
revelation,  however,  caused  the  agent  to  re 
double  his  efforts  to  save  the  hapless  maiden 
from  herself. 

"  After  much  coaxing  he  succeeded  in  get 
ting  her  into  his  little  room  in  the  rear  of  the 
telegraph  office,  where  she  soon  fell  asleep. 
The  sun  went  down  and  still  she  slept,  and  he 
knew  she  was  safe,  at  least  for  another  day. 
The  darkness  deepened  on  the  desert  waste, 
the  evening  wore  away,  the  operator  got  *  Good- 


WAKALONA  95 


night '  from  the  despatcher  at  Omaha  and  fell 
asleep  in  his  chair.  Presently  he  was  awakened 
by  a  sound  as  of  a  door  closing  softly.  He 
stole  into  the  little  back  room  only  to  learn 
that  his  guest  had  gone.  He  slipped  outside 
and  listened,  but  save  for  the  doleful  cry  of  a 
lone  wolf,  the  night  was  voiceless,  and  he  re 
turned  to  his  narrow  room. 

"  Next  day,  when  the  sun  was  falling  away 
in  the  west,  the  operator,  sitting  at  his  little 
table,  noticed  a  shadow  in  the  door,  and  look 
ing  up  beheld  the  sad  face  of  the  Indian,  gaun 
ter  and  sorrier  than  before.  Again  he  gave 
her  food,  and  from  his  medicine  chest,  which 
in  those  days  was  furnished  by  the  company  to 
all  agents  and  conductors,  he  brought  medi 
cated  bandages  which  he  bound  about  her  torn 
ankles,  and  ointment  which  he  put  upon  her 
wounded  head.  After  that  she  continued  to 
come  to  him  every  day,  to  accept  a  meagre 
meal,  and  at  night  to  steal  away  and  sleep  upon 
the  prairie  with  only  the  stars  above  her.  At 
the  end  of  a  fortnight  she  was  almost  well  again. 
Now  the  woman  that  was  in  her  nature  caused 
her  to  long  for  some  one  to  whom  she  might 


96  WAKALONA 


tell  her  story,  in  whom  she  might  confide ; 
and  she  told  it,  as  well  as  she  could,  to  the 
agent.  He  helped  her  to  arrange  her  hair  so 
as  to  hide  the  hateful  scar  at  the  top  of  her 
head,  and  persuaded  her  to  return  to  her  people. 
'  If  the  white  man  loved  you  once,  he  will  love 
you  all  the  more  now,  and  he  will  save  you 
from  your  people  if  they  try  to  molest  you,'  was 
the  agent's  encouraging  advice,  and  she  deter 
mined  to  return. 

"Slide  McAlaster's  severely  sprained  ankle 
had  become  strong,  and  he  was  at  work  again. 
The  name  of  Wakalona  was  never  mentioned 
by  the  Indians,  for  to  them  she  was  dead. 
It  was  never  mentioned  by  the  whites  when  it 
could  be  avoided,  for  no  one  cared  to  tell  the 
awful  story  to  the  brakeman ;  and  so  he  lived 
from  day  to  day  expecting  her  to  come  home. 
His  was  the  only  cheerful  face  in  the  camp 
during  those  two  weeks.  He  was  happy  in  the 
morning,  hoping  that  the  day  would  bring  her 
back,  and  happy  again  at  night,  for  there  was 
one  day  less  of  waiting  for  her  return.  And 
she  did  come  back.  One  night,  when  the  rain 
was  pouring  down,  she  opened  the  door  of  her 


WAKALONA 


97 


father's  tent  and  waited  to  be  welcomed  home. 
The  old  scout  was  pacing  his  tent,  for  he  had 
not  ceased  to  grieve  for  his  daughter,  but  now 
that  she  had  returned  to  him,  as  one  from  the 
grave,  her  coming  served  only  to  augment  his 
misery.     At  sight  of  her  he  had  taken  a  step  or 
two  toward  the  tent  door,  and  then  pausing  to 
look  upon  her  for  the  last  time,  his  face  grew 
grave  as  he  pointed  a  long  arm  down  the  dark 
ness.     In  a  hoarse  voice  he  uttered  those  omi 
nous  words,  '  The  shadows  lie  upon  the  shore,  — 
to  the  river  begone.'     With  a  despairing  look, 
the  Princess  turned   back  into  the  rain-swept 
night,  and  now  a  new  danger  confronted  her. 
The  guards  had  seen  her  at  the  tent  door,  by 
the  dim  light  of  a  grease-lamp,  and  now  they 
seized  and  bound  her.     Her  father  had  left  to 
her  the  one  chance  of  flight,  the  guards  had 
shown  less  pity.     And  while  she  sat  bound  and 
guarded  in  a  darkly  lighted  tent  her  lover  slept 
and  dreamed  of  her  coming,  not  a  hundred 
yards  away.     The  day  dawned  grudgingly,  the 
darkness  seemed  reluctantly  to  leave  the  earth, 
the  sun  remained  behind  the  dark  clouds,  from 
which  the  rain  continued  to  fall  in  torrents.     At 


98  WAKALONA 


noon  the  rain  ceased,  the  sun  came  out, 
meadow  larks  carolled  free  in  the  blue  above, 
but  the  hapless  Wakalona  lay  fettered  in  a  rain- 
soaked  tent.  The  story  of  her  capture  was 
kept  a  profound  secret,  for  the  Indians  knew 
that  the  United  States  army  officers  would  inter 
fere  if  they  learned  that  the  Princess  was  to  be 
put  to  death.  In  the  darkness  of  their  igno 
rance  they  believed  that  they  were  doing  their 
duty. 

"  On  account  of  the  rain  we  had  not  gone 
out  that  day,  but  late  in  the  afternoon  an  order 
came  from  the  despatcher  for  us  to  run  light  to 
Omaha  to  bring  out  a  train  of  steel.  As  we 
pulled  out  over  the  switches  I  noticed  a  great 
crowd  of  Pawnees  down  by  the  river  near  the 
railroad  bridge.  As  we  approached  we  could 
see  that  they  were  waving  their  hands  and  put 
ting  up  weird  signals.  Now  as  the  engine,  still 
creeping  along,  working  the  water  out  of  her 
cylinders,  neared  the  bridge,  McAlaster  sud 
denly  cried,  ( Wakalona,'  and  leaped  to  the 
ground.  I  stopped  the  engine,  and,  looking 
over,  saw  Wakalona  seated  in  a  canoe  with  her 
head  bowed  down  almost  to  her  knees.  A 


WAKALONA  99 


stalwart  Pawnee  sat  in  one  end  of  the  canoe 
holding  a  single  oar,  while  another  Indian, 
equally  well  proportioned,  sat  near  the  girl, 
whose  feet  were  fettered,  and  whose  hands  were 
bound  behind  her  back.  Now  the  whole  band 
began  to  chant : — 

'  The  shadows  lie  upon  the  shore, 
The  dead  shall  walk  the  earth  no  more.* 

"  The  sun  sat  like  a  great  red  wheel  that  had 
sunk  hub-deep  in  the  sand,  and  when  half  the 
rim  was  below,  and  half  above  the  earth,  the 
second  stanza  of  the  death  chant  arose  from 
the  river,  as  the  boat  was  pushed  out  into  the 
stream. 

*  When  the  great  red  sun  is  half  in  the  sky 
And  half  in  the  earth,  then  the  dead  must  die.' 

"  Now  for  the  first  time  Wakalona  lifted  her 
eyes,  and  she  beheld  her  lover  leaping  from  the 
shore.  A  few  long  strokes  brought  him  within 
reach  of  the  little  boat  and  he  climbed  aboard. 
The  Indian  at  the  oar  stood  up  and  faced  him. 
The  big  brakeman  swung  his  long  right  arm, 
caught  the  Pawnee  under  the  ear,  and  over  he 
went.  Reaching  down  he  lifted  the  other 


100  WAKALONA 


Indian  bodily,  turned  him  half  over,  and  with 
all  his  might  drove  him  head  first  into  the  sand 
at  the  bottom  of  the  river. 

".While  this  was  going  on  the  little  bark 
was  drifting  rapidly  toward  the  bridge.  McAlas- 
ter  cut  the  cord  that  bound  the  woman,  seized 
the  oar,  and  made  the  land  just  below  the 
engine.  Lifting  the  girl  in  his  arms  he  ran  up 
the  dump,  placed  her  in  the  caboose,  and  we 
were  off.  As  we  reached  the  east  end  of  the 
bridge  I  looked  back,  and  saw  the  baffled  band 
swarming  in  from  the  west,  but  even  as  they 
ran  the  sun  went  down,  the  death  hour  had 
passed,  and  they  turned  back  to  their  tents." 


SI  ilocomotifoe  a0  a  Wat  Chariot 


A  LOCOMOTIVE  AS  A  WAR  CHARIOT 


"OMOKY  HILL  was  the  end  of  the  track  at 
that  time,"  said  the  old  engineer,  shifting 
his  lame  foot  to  an  easy  position.  "  We  had 
built  a  round-house,  —  a  square  one,  with  only 
two  stalls  and  room  at  the  back  for  three  or 
four  bunks  and  a  work  bench.  To  protect  our 
selves  against  the  Sioux  we  had  lined  the  house 
up  to  about  five  feet  from  the  ground,  and  filled 
in  behind  the  lining  with  sand. 

"  Indians  were  thicker  than  grasshoppers  in 
Kansas  in  the  days  of  the  building  of  the  Kan 
sas  Pacific,  and  scarcely  a  day  —  never  a  week 
—  went  by  without  a  fight.  At  first  they  ap 
peared  to  be  awed  by  the  locomotives,  but  in  a 
little  while  their  superstitious  fear  had  vanished, 
and  they  were  constantly  setting  lures  to  cap 
ture  the  '  big  hoss,'  as  they  called  the  engine. 


104      A    LOCOMOTIVE  AS  A    WAR   CHARIOT 

One  day  we  were  out  at  the  front  with  a  train 
of  steel,  some  eight  or  ten  miles  west  of  the 
Hill.  It  had  been  snowing  all  day  in  little  fits 
and  spits,  and  near  nightfall  the  clouds  became 
thicker  and  darker,  and  before  the  sun  had 
gone  down  the  snow  was  falling  fast.  By  the 
time  the  last  rail  had  been  unloaded  it  was 
pitch  dark,  and  as  the  engine  was  headed  west, 
we  were  obliged  to  back  up  all  the  way  to 
Smoky  Hill.  The  conductor  and  the  captain 
of  the  guard,  composed  of  government  scouts, 
took  a  stand  on  the  rearmost  flat-car,  and  when 
I  got  a  signal  I  opened  the  throttle  and  began 
to  poke  the  blunt  end  of  the  construction  train 
into  the  darkness.  Ordinarily  I  hate  running 
backward  at  night,  but  in  a  case  of  this  kind  it 
is  a  real  relief  to  know  that  there  are  a  dozen 
or  more  well-armed  soldiers  between  you  and 
whatever  the  darkness  holds.  Three  or  four 
men  with  white  lights  were  stationed  at  inter 
vals  along  the  tops  of  the  ten  or  twelve  cars 
that  made  up  the  train.  The  house  car,  or 
caboose,  was  next  the  engine,  and  upon  the  top 
of  this  car  stood  the  foreman  of  the  gang,  and 
from  him  I  was  supposed  to  take  my  *  tokens.' 


A    LOCOMOTIVE  AS  A    WAR   CHARIOT      105 

"  We  had  been  in  motion  less  than  ten  min 
utes  when  I  saw  the  conductor's  light  (we  were 
going  with  the  storm)  stand  out,  and  following 
this  movement  all  the  lights  along  the  train's 
top  pointed  out  over  the  plain,  and  I  began  to 
slow  down.  Instantly  a  dozen  shots  were  fired 
from  the  darkness.  Muffled  by  the  storm,  the 
sound  came  as  if  a  pack  of  fire-crackers  were 
going  off  under  a  dinner  pail,  and  we  all  knew 
what  we  had  run  into.  '  Injuns,'  shouted  the 
fireman,  leaping  across  the  gangway,  '  and 
they  're  on  my  side.'  '  Keep  your  seat,'  said  I, 
'  they  're  on  my  side,  too.' 

"  Now  all  the  white  lights,  following  another 
signal  from  the  conductor,  began  to  whirl  furi 
ously  in  a  short  circle.  That  was  my  notion 
precisely.  If  they  had  prepared  to  ditch  us, 
we  might  as  well  go  into  the  ditch  as  remain 
on  the  tops  of  the  cars  to  be  picked  off  by  the 
Sioux,  so  I  opened  the  throttle  and  began  to 
back  away  again  as  fast  as  possible.  The  In 
dians  had  prepared  to  ditch  our  train.  They 
had  placed  a  great  pile  of  cross  ties  upon  the 
track,  expecting  that  when  we  struck  them  our 
train  would  come  to  a  dead  stop.  This  small 


106      A    LOCOMOTIVE  AS  A    WAR  CHARIOT 

party  which  had  fired  upon  us  was  the  outer 
watch,  the  main  band  being  huddled  about  the 
heap  of  ties  where  they  expected  us  to  halt, 
and  where  most  of  the  amusement  would  occur. 
The  track  was  newly  laid,  and  as  billowy  as  a 
rough  sea,  but  this  was  no  time  for  careful 
running.  The  old  work  engine  soon  had  the 
empty  train  going  at  a  thirty-mile  gait,  and 
then  we  hit  the  tie  pile.  The  men  on  the  rear 
car,  which  was  now  in  front,  had  anticipated  a 
wreck,  and  retired  in  bad  order  to  the  centre 
of  the  train.  The  Indians,  who  had  only  a 
faint  notion  of  the  power  and  resistance  of  a 
locomotive,  stood  close  together  about  the  pile 
of  ties.  The  falling  snow  had  made  the  rail 
and  timbers  so  wet  and  slippery,  that  when  we 
hit  the  stack  of  wood  the  ties  flew  in  all  direc 
tions.  Some  of  them  were  thrown  to  the  tops 
of  the  cars  and  others  flew  into  the  mob  of  red 
skins,  knocking  them  into  confusion.  A  fine 
buck,  who  must  have  been  standing  on  the 
track,  was  picked  up  in  the  collision  and  landed 
upon  the  top  of  the  second  car,  right  at  the 
conductor's  feet.  The  fellow  was  considerably 
stunned  by  the  fall,  and,  taking  advantage  of 


A   LOCOMOTIVE  AS  A    WAR   CHARIOT      107 

his  condition,  the  scouts  seized  and  bound  him 
with  a  piece  of  bell-cord,  taking  care  to  remove 
an  ugly  knife  from  his  rawhide  belt.  The 
band  was  so  surprised  to  see  the  train  plough 
through  the  wreckage  that  they  forgot  to  fire 
until  we  had  almost  passed  them,  and  a  great 
flood  of  fire  from  the  engine  stack  was  falling 
among  them.  They  then  threw  up  their  guns, 
those  who  were  still  on  their  feet,  and  let  go  at 
us,  but  none  of  the  bullets  affected  our  party. 

"  When  we  reached  the  station  the  Pawnees 
who  were  among  the  scouts  recognized  our 
captive  at  once  as  Bear  Foot,  a  noted  and  very 
wicked  chief.  When  the  Sioux  came  to  him 
self  and  realized  that  he  was  a  captive,  he  be 
came  furious.  He  surged  and  strained  at  the 
bell- rope,  but  in  vain,  and  finally  he  gave  up. 

"  When  we  had  eaten  our  supper  we  all  went 
into  the  round-house,  soldiers  and  all ;  for  we 
knew  the  Sioux  would  make  a  desperate  effort 
to  rescue  their  chief  before  the  night  was  out. 

"  Now  appreciating  the  importance  of  our 
capture,  the  captain  in  command  had  set  four 
powerful  Pawnee  scouts  to  guard  Bear  Foot, 
the  Sioux  chief.  It  was  no  sure  thing  that  we 


108      A    LOCOMOTIVE  AS  A    WAR   CHARIOT 

would  be  able  to -stand  the  Indians  off  till 
morning,  and  as  the  storm  had  knocked  the 
wires  down,  we  had  been  unable  to  telegraph 
to  Lawrence  for  reenforcements.  The  fact 
that  their  brave  chief  was  himself  a  captive 
would  increase  the  wrath  of  the  red  men  with 
out,  and  taking  even  a  moderate  view  of  the 
situation,  we  were  in  a  hard  hole.  I  for  one 
would  have  gladly  bartered  our  captive  and 
the  glory  of  the  capture  away,  for  the  assurance 
of  seeing  the  sun  rise  on  the  following  morn 
ing,  but  I  dared  not  hint  such  a  thing  to  the 
captain,  much  less  to  the  Pawnees. 

"The  four  scouts,  with  their  prisoner,  were 
placed  in  the  coal  tank  of  the  locomotive, 
while  the  fireman  and  I  occupied  our  places 
in  the  cab  and  kept  the  steam  up  to  one  hun 
dred  and  forty  pounds.  If  at  any  time  it  seemed 
to  me  the  fight  was  going  against  us,  and  the 
Sioux  stood  a  chance  to  effect  an  entrance,  I 
was  to  pull  out  for  Lawrence  with  the  captive 
and  fetch  assistance,  provided  I  did  not  meet  a 
west-bound  train  and  lose  my  locomotive.  I 
rather  liked  this  arrangement,  risky  as  it  was, 
for  it  was  preferable  to  remaining  in  the  round- 


A   LOCOMOTIVE  AS  A    WAR   CHARIOT      109 

house  to  be  roasted  alive.  Then,  again,  I  dis 
liked  fighting,  —  that 's  what  we  fed  and  hauled 
these  soldiers  around  for.  They  were  so  in 
fernally  lazy  in  times  of  peace  that  I  used 
almost  to  pray  for  trouble,  that  they  might  have 
an  opportunity  at  least  once  a  week  to  earn 
their  board  and  keep.  Now  that  the  oppor 
tunity  seemed  to  be  at  hand,  I  had  no  wish  to 
deprive  them  of  the  excitement  and  glory  of 
being  killed  in  real  battle,  and  so  sat  nodding 
in  the  cab  of  old  49. 

"  It  was  long  after  midnight  when  one  of  the 
men  on  duty  heard  a  low  scraping  sound,  like 
that  made  by  a  hog  crawling  under  a  gate.  A 
moment  later  the  noise  was  repeated,  and  when 
the  same  sound  had  been  heard  three  or  four 
times,  the  lieutenant  in  command  flashed  a 
bull's-eye  lamp  in  the  direction  of  the  door, 
and  the  light  of  it  revealed  three  big  braves 
standing  close  together,  while  a  fourth  was 
just  creeping  in  under  the  door.  Then,  as  if 
the  idea  had  struck  all  of  them  at  once,  they 
threw  their  guns  up  and  let  go  along  down  the 
ray  of  light,  and  the  lieutenant  fell  severely 
wounded.  The  scouts  returned  the  fire  and 
four  Indians  fell. 


110      A    LOCOMOTIVE  AS  A    WAR   CHARIOT 

"  The  report  of  the  rifles  within  the  building 
had  been  answered  and  immediately  a  shower 
of  lead  rained  and  rattled  upon  the  wooden 
doors  from  without.  One  of  the  scouts  picked 
the  bull's-eye  lamp  up  and  placed  it  upon  the 
work  bench,  training  the  light  upon  the  double 
doors  immediately  in  front  of  my  engine.  Our 
men  knew  how  useless  it  would  be  to  fire  into 
the  sand -stuffed  sides  of  the  building,  and  not 
caring  to  put  themselves  into  a  position  where 
they  could  fire  effectively  above  the  wainscoting, 
they  very  wisely  kept  close  to  the  ground  and 
allowed  the  Sioux  to  empty  their  guns  into  the 
sand. 

"Presently,  hearing  no  sound  from  within, 
the  attacking  party  ceased  firing,  and  began  to 
prowl  about  the  building  in  search  of  a  weak 
spot  through  which  they  might  effect  an  en 
trance.  The  fate  of  the  three  early  callers  who 
had  hogged  it  under  the  door,  kept  them  from 
fooling  about  that  trap  for  the  remainder  of  the 
evening.  In  a  little  while  the  whole  place  was 
as  still  as  the  tomb,  save  for  the  soft  flutter 
of  steam  from  the  safety  valve  of  the  49.  Bear 
Foot  knew  what  was  going  on.  Even  though 


A    LOCOMOTIVE   AS  A    WAR   CHARIOT      III 

he  could  see  nothing,  he  knew  that  his  faithful 
followers  were  working  his  release,  and  now 
when  all  was  silent,  he  shouted  from  the  coal 
tank  to  his  braves  to  break  the  door  and  come 
in.  Before  the  Pawnee  scouts  could  pound 
him  into  a  state  of  quietude  he  had  imparted  to 
his  people  the  particulars  of  his  whereabout, 
and  immediately  the  whole  band  threw  them 
selves  against  the  front  of  the  building. 

"The  house  fairly  trembled,  the  Indians 
surged  from  without,  and  the  great  doors  swayed 
to  and  fro,  threatening  at  any  moment  to  give 
way  and  let  the  flood  of  bloodthirsty  redskins 
in  upon  us. 

" '  Stand  together,'  cried  the  captain  to  his 
men. 

"  '  Put  on  the  blower  and  get  her  hot,'  I 
called  to  the  fireman,  for  I  knew  the  frail  struc 
ture  could  not  withstand  the  strain  much  longer. 
As  often  as  the  fireman  opened  the  furnace 
door  to  rake  his  fire,  the  glare  of  the  fire-box 
lit  up  the  whole  interior  and  showed  four  dead 
Sioux  near  the  door.  One  of  them  lay  across 
the  rail,  and  I  found  myself  speculating  as  to 
whether  the  pilot  of  the  49  would  throw  him 


112      A   LOCOMOTIl'E  AS  A    WAR   CHARIOT 

off,  or  whether  I  must  run  over  him.  Now  it 
seemed  that  the  whole  band  had  thrown  them 
selves  against  the  building,  and  the  yelling  was 
deafening.  Above  it  all  I  heard  our  captain 
shout :  '  Get  ready,  Frank.' 

"  '  I  am  ready,'  said  I. 

" '  All  right,'  said  he,  *  shoot  it  to  'em,'  and 
I  opened  the  sand  valves  and  the  throttle.  I 
have  often  thought  what  a  temptation  it  was 
for  those  soldiers  to  leap  upon  the  engine  and 
make  their  escape,  but  although  they  all  un 
derstood  perfectly  what  was  going  on,  not  one 
of  them  took  advantage  of  this  '  last  train  out.' 

"  Just  as  the  '  Big  Hoss  '  moved  with  all  her 
ponderous  and  almost  irresistible  weight  toward 
the  front  of  the  building,  the  double  doors 
sagged  toward  me  like  the  head  gate  of  a  great 
reservoir  that  is  overcharged,  and  then  I  hit 
'em.  The  big  doors,  being  forced  from  their 
hinges,  fell  out  upon  the  redskins,  and  they 
were  caught  like  rats  in  a  trap.  The  pilot 
ploughed  through  them,  maiming  and  killing 
a  score  of  them,  and  on  went  the  49  over  the 
safe  switches,  which  had  already  been  set  for  her 
before  the  fight  began.  The  confusion  caused 


A    LOCOMOTIVE  AS  A    WAR    CHARIOT      113 

by  the  awful  work  of  Big  Hoss,  which  they 
regarded  as  little  less  than  the  devil,  was  in 
creased  when  the  Indians  who  remained  unhurt 
realized  that  the  engine  was  making  away  with 
their  chief,  for  he  had  told  them  how  he  was 
held  a  captive  in  the  belly  of  the  big  horse. 

"All  effort  for  the  capture  of  the  round-house 
was  instantly  abandoned,  and  the  Sioux,  as 
one  man,  turned  and  ran  after  the  locomotive. 
The  captain  in  command  of  the  scouts,  taking 
advantage  of  the  confusion  of  his  foe,  and  of 
the  fact  that  his  force  was  in  the  dark  building, 
while  the  Sioux  were  out  upon  the  whitened 
earth,  quickly  massed  his  men  at  the  open  door 
and  began  to  pour  a  murderously  wicked  fire 
into  the  baffled  Sioux,  who,  like  foolish  farm 
dogs,  were  chasing  the  49  over  the  switches. 

"  All  the  Indians  who  were  crippled  by  the 
engine  were  promptly,  and  I  thought  very  prop 
erly,  killed  by  the  Pawnee  scouts,  and  the  rest 
were  driven  away. 

"  It  was  a  desperately  risky  run  from  Smoky 
Hill  to  Lawrence,  with  no  running  orders,  and 
due  to  collide  with  a  west-bound  special  or  an 
extra  that  might  be  going  out  to  the  rescue 


114      A    LOCOMOTIVE  AS  A    WAR   CHARIOT 

with  a  train  load  of  material,  but  the  officials, 
fearing  that  something  might  arise  which  would 
cause  us  to  want  to  come  in,  had  very  wisely 
abandoned  all  trains  the  moment  the  wires  went 
down,  and  so  we  reached  Lawrence  just  before 
day  without  a  mishap. 

"  My  first  thought  was  of  our  captive,  Bear 
Foot,  who  had  made  track  laying  dangerous 
business  for  our  people  for  the  past  three  or 
four  weeks,  but  upon  looking  about  I  saw  only 
four  Pawnees,  and  concluded  that  the  fierce 
fellows  had  killed  the  chief  and  rolled  him  off. 

"  <  Where  's  Bear  Foot?  '  I  demanded. 

" '  Here,'  said  a  Pawnee,  who  was  quietly 
seated  upon  the  manhole  of  the  engine  tank, 
and  he  pointed  down.  During  the  excitement 
in  the  round-house  at  Smoky  Hill  the  Sioux  had 
made  a  desperate  effort  to  escape,  and  had  been 
quietly  dropped  into  the  tank  where  he  had 
remained  throughout  the  entire  run. 

"  Now,  it 's  one  thing  to  stay  in  a  tank  that 
is  half  filled  with  water  when  the  engine  is  in 
her  stall,  and  quite  another  thing  to  inhabit  a 
place  of  that  kind  when  a  locomotive  is  making 
a  fly  run  over  a  new  track.  After  much  time 


A    LOCOMOTIVE  AS  A    W 'A R    CHARIOT     115 

and  labor  had  been  lost  fishing  for  the  chief 
with  a  clinker  hook,  one  of  the  scouts  got  into 
the  tank,  which  was  now  quite  empty,  and 
handed  Bear  Foot  out. 

"When  we  had  bailed  him  out  and  placed 
him  alongside  the  depot  where  the  sun  would 
catch  him  early,  the  coroner  came  and  sat  on 
him  and  pronounced  him  a  good  Indian." 


3  <$i)0$t  train  allusion 


A  GHOST  TRAIN   ILLUSION 


T17HEN  the  Rio  Grande  Western  was  a 
narrow-gauge  road  it  was  very  crooked. 
Even  in  the  Utah  desert  there  were  many  curves 
among  the  sand  hills  that  have  been  piled  up  dur 
ing  the  last  few  thousand  years.  A  locomotive 
—  one  of  a  type  known  as  "  sewing  machines," 
because  all  their  machinery  was  in  sight  —  was 
trying  to  make  a  spur  for  the  general  manager's 
special,  against  which  she  had  a  time  order. 
The  time  was  growing  alarmingly  short,  and  the 
driver  of  the  light  engine  knew  that  the  man  on 
the  special,  with  the  G.  M.  behind  him,  would 
be  crowding  the  limit.  These  "  sewing  ma 
chines  "  were  famous  riders.  The  springs  were 
so  light  and  so  perfectly  adjusted,  that  one  of 
these  locomotives  would  ride  as  easily  to  the 
engineer  as  a  Pullman  car  does  to  a  commer- 


120  A    GHOST   TRAIN  ILLUSION 

cial  traveller,  with  one  seat  for  himself  and 
another  for  his  feet.  As  the  little  machine 
rocked  round  the  corners,  screaming  at  every 
curve,  the  engineer  and  fireman  kept  a  sharp 
lookout  ahead,  at  the  same  time  counting  the 
minutes  and  reckoning  the  miles  that  lay 
between  them  and  the  spur. 

Down  the  desert  one  of  the  swiftest  engines 
on  the  road  was  trembling  away  toward  the 
sewing  machine,  and  at  the  end  of  each  minute 
the  two  locomotives  were  a  mile  and  a  half 
nearer  each  other. 

To  be  allowed  to  "pull"  the  general  mana 
ger  is  an  honor  earnestly  striven  for  by  engi 
neers,  and  when  once  obtained  it  is  carefully 
guarded.  Whatever  record  a  man  makes  at  the 
head  of  such  a  train  is  sure  to  count  for  or 
against  him,  since  he  is  then  directly  under  the 
eye  of  the  management.  The  chances  are 
always  in  favor  of  a  good  run,  for  the  train 
despatcher,  with  his  own  reputation  at  stake, 
can  be  depended  upon  to  keep  the  track  clear. 
He  will  hold  a  passenger  train  ten  minutes 
rather  than  hold  the  special  five.  Another 
point  in  favor  of  the  special  engineer  is  the  fact 


A    GHOST   TRAIN  ILLUSION  121 

that  he  is  due  at  no  particular  point  at  any 
specified  time,  and  having  no  time-card  to  hold 
him  down,  he  may  regulate  the  speed  of  the 
train  to  suit  himself.  He  is  always  an  experi 
enced  runner  who  knows  the  road,  —  knows 
every  low  joint  and  high  centre,  every  curve  and 
sag  on  his  division ;  consequently  the  officials 
put  no  limit  upon  the  speed  of  the  train,  but 
leave  it  all  to  the  good  judgment  of  the  engi 
neer.  It  was  a  clear,  dry  day  in  the  early 
autumn,  the  very  best  time  of  year  for  a  fast 
run,  and  "  Old  Sam  "  had  been  gauging  his 
speed  for  fifty  miles  back  so  as  to  hit  Coyote 
spur  on  the  dot,  and  break  the  record  for  fast 
running  on  the  Alkali  division. 

By  the  rules  of  the  road,  five  minutes  were 
allowed  for  the  variation  of  watches,  but  the 
rule  is  not  always  respected,  and  as  the  man  on 
the  special  was  known  to  be  a  daring  driver,  the 
sewing  machine  crew  saw  that  they  were  in 
a  close  place  long  before  the  smoke  of  the 
approaching  locomotive  was  seen.  Now  they 
had  barely  five  minutes  left,  and  nothing  for  the 
variation,  and  the  coveted  siding  four  miles 
away.  At  last  there  remained  but  a  single  mile, 


122  A    GHOST   TRAIN  ILLUSION 

and  only  a  minute  to  do  it  in.  The  throttle 
was  wide  open,  and  the  little  engine  was  roll 
ing  so  that  the  bell  rang  continually.  The  fire 
man  had  put  in  his  last  fire,  and  was  now  strain 
ing  his  eyes  to  catch  the  smoke  of  the  special. 
The  engineer,  with  his  left  hand  on  the  whistle- 
rope,  clung  to  the  side  of  the  cab  to  keep  from 
being  thrown  out  of  the  right  of  way. 

The  wheels  under  the  sewing  machine  were 
so  small  that  the  best  she  could  do  was  forty- 
five  miles,  and  now  when  she  came  down  to  the 
very  last  second,  there  was  still  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  between  her  and  the  meeting  point,  but  at 
that  moment  the  flying  wheels  of  the  special 
engine  crashed  over  the  switch  and  shut  her 
out.  The  little  sewing  machine,  hid  among  the 
sand  hills,  was  straining  every  nerve  to  reach 
the  passing  point  at  which  she  was  already 
overdue.  The  man  on  the  special  was  just 
beginning  to  feel  sure  of  his  position,  when  he 
rounded  a  curve  and  saw  the  light  engine 
emerging  from  a  shallow  cut.  Of  course,  he 
shut  off  and  tried  to  lessen  the  force  of  the  col 
lision,  but  to  stop  was  out  of  the  question. 

The  fireman   on   the    light   engine    saw  the 


A    GHOST   TRAIN  ILLUSION  123 

special,  and  warned  his  companion,  for  they 
were  curving  to  the  left  and  the  driver  could 
not  see,  but  the  four  men  knew  that  nothing 
short  of  a  miracle  could  prevent  a  dreadful 
collision,  and  that  in  a  few  seconds'  time  they 
would  all  be  piled  up  in  a  heap.  Both  drivers 
had  called  to  their  firemen  to  jump,  and  the 
firemen  had  turned  to  their  windows.  The 
special  engineer  was  in  the  act  of  reversing, 
that  he  might  take  the  good  opinion  of  the 
official  with  him.  The  other  driver  only  shoved 
the  throttle  lever  in,  braced  himself,  and  awaited 
the  shock. 

A  man  who  has  never  lived  up  to  what  he 
thought  his  last  moment  on  earth,  and  survived 
to  tell  about  it  afterward,  can  never  know  how 
much  business  one  can  transact,  in  his  mind, 
during  that  moment  in  which  he  waits  and 
listens  for  the  swish  of  the  scythe.  But  one 
does  not  always  review  his  past  life  at  such  a 
moment;  often  he  wastes  time  thinking  upon 
n  mere  trifle.  Lafe  Pence  was  in  a  wreck  the 
next  day  after  his  election  to  Congress,  and,  al 
though  he  had  been  a  Democrat,  and  had  be 
come  a  Populist,  he  gave  no  thought  to  the 


124  A    GHOST   TRAIN  ILLUSION 

past  nor  the  future,  but  said  to  himself,  as  the 
sleeper  plunged  down  an  embankment,  "  Now, 
what  the  devil  was  I  elected  for?" 

The  driver  of  the  special  engine  had  a  boy, 
and  this  boy  had  climbed  up  on  a  picket  fence 
to  kiss  his  father  good-by  that  morning  at  their 
home  in  Salt  Lake,  but  he  slipped,  fell,  and 
hung  there  with  a  fence  picket  through  the  seat 
of  his  first  pair  of  trousers,  and  it  was  all  so 
funny  that,  now  as  the  engineer  recalled  the 
circumstance,  he  threw  back  his  head  and 
laughed  as  heartily  as  he  had  ever  laughed  in 
his  life.  The  fireman,  casting  a  farewell  glance 
at  his  companion,  saw  him  laughing,  and  con 
cluded,  in  his  last  moment,  that  the  driver  had 
suddenly  become  insane,  but  as  he  glanced 
ahead  where  death  was  waiting,  he  was  not  sure 
that  he  was  sane  himself. 

The  driver,  having  finished  his  laugh  and 
still  feeling  no  shock,  looked  ahead.  The 
track  was  clear  !  He  unlatched  the  reverse 
lever  and  threw  the  engine  in  the  forward  mo 
tion,  and  the  speed  of  the  train,  which  had  been 
but  little  checked,  carried  them  away  down 
among  the  sand  hills.  The  driver  looked  at 


A    GHOST  TRAIN  ILLUSION  125 

the  fireman  and  asked :  "  Did  you  see  any 
thing?" 

"  No,"  said  the  fireman.  "Did  you?  "  and 
the  driver  said  no,  tried  his  water  and  opened  the 
throttle,  and  the  engine  whirled  away,  while  the 
fireman  returned  to  his  place  at  the  furnace  door. 

The  two  men  scarcely  glanced  at  each  other 
again  until  they  stopped  for  water  at  Green 
River,  but  each  in  his  own  mind  was  recalling 
all  the  wild  tales  of  ghost  trains  he  had  ever 
heard.  Each  was  firm  in  the  belief  that  he 
had  seen  a  ghost,  but  he  would  never  tell  it,  — 
not  for  his  job. 

The  officials  in  the  special  train  felt  the  re 
sistance  of  the  engine  when  the  engineer  shut 
off  and  reversed,  and  the  general  manager, 
turning  to  the  superintendent,  asked,  with  sur 
prise  :  "  When  did  you  put  in  that  siding?  " 

"  What,  back  there  ?  That 's  Coyote  spur, 
and  has  been  there  for  six  months,"  was  the 
reply. 

"I  know  very  well,"  said  the  manager, 
"  where  Coyote  spur  is,  for  we  waited  there 
fifteen  minutes  for  No.  8  going  down  the  other 
day,  but  we  just  passed  a  siding  on  the  north." 


126  A    GHOS  T   TRAIN  ILL  US  ION 

The  superintendent  was  inclined  to  be  funny, 
but  the  Colonel,  stroking  his  long  gray  PerTers, 
remarked  that  he  had  seen  a  locomotive  stand 
ing  at  the  point  mentioned,  and  "  as  trains  are 
not  in  the  habit  of  meeting  and  passing  be 
tween  stations,  I  take  it  that  there  must  be  a 
siding  there."  There  was  just  a  twinkle  of 
mirth  in  the  Colonel's  eyes,  which,  despite  the 
finger  marks  left  about  them  by  the  touch  of 
time,  are  still  bright  with  the  sparkle  of  youth, 
but  the  superintendent  was  utterly  unable  to 
understand  the  general  manager. 

There  was  silence  for  a  little  while,  but  the 
general  manager  was  by  no  means  satisfied. 
He  pressed  the  button,  and  when  the  black 
porter  came  in  he  asked :  "  Did  you  see  an 
engine  on  a  siding  back  a  ways,  George  ?  " 

"  No,  sah,  I  have  n't  saw  no  engine  :  d'ain't 
no  sidin'  'cept  Ci-ote  spur,  an'  dat  was  clear." 

"  Send  the  conductor  to  me,"  said  the  offi 
cial,  and  when  the  conductor  came  in  the  man 
ager  asked  to  look  at  the  running  orders. 

"  Run  special  to  Grand  Junction,  avoiding  all 
regular  trains.  Extra  engine  57  has  until  5-55  to 
make  Coyote  spur  against  you." 


A    GHOST  TRAIN  ILLUSION  12J 

"What  time  did  you  pass  the  spur?"  de 
manded  the  Colonel. 

"  Precisely  at  5-55,"  said  the  conductor, 
now  somewhat  alarmed  at  the  manager's  air. 

"  Is  there  a  siding  between  here  and  Coyote?  " 
asked  the  Colonel,  and  the  superintendent, 
being  at  a  loss  to  make  out  what  the  manager 
was  driving  at,  started  to  leave  the  car,  but  was 
called  back. 

"  There  is  not,"  was  the  conductor's  reply. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  there  was  not 
when  we  went  down,  but  there  is  now,  for  I 
saw  a  locomotive  standing  there." 

The  conductor  laughed  as  the  superintendent 
had  done,  but  the  Colonel  offered  to  risk  a  case 
of  champagne  that  he  had  seen  no  ghost  train, 
and  the  superintendent  took  the  bet  as  the  easi 
est  way  of  settling  an  argument  which  was  about 
to  become  embarrassing. 

When  the  special  reached  Green  River  the 
party  went  into  the  eating-house,  where  supper 
had  been  ordered,  and,  as  was  his  habit,  the 
Colonel  sat  at  the  same  table  with  the  train  and 
engine  crew. 

"  What  did  you  shut  off  for  just  this  side  of 


128  A    GHOST   TRAIN  ILLUSION 

Coyote  spur,  Sam?"  asked  the  Colonel,  looking 
the  engineer  in  the  eye,  and  instantly  the  eyes 
of  the  whole  party  were  upon  the  driver's  dusky 
face.  The  engineer  was  speechless.  Not  that 
the  circumstances  had  escaped  his  mind,  for  as 
a  matter  of  fact  he  had  thought  of  little  else, 
but  he  knew  not  how  to  answer. 

"  Did  you  think  that  engine  was  on  the  main 
line?"  asked  the  general  manager,  noticing 
the  embarrassment  of  the  engine  crew. 

"  What  engine  ?"  asked  the  engineer,  trying 
to  look  and  speak  naturally. 

"There  was  only  one  engine  there  besides 
your  own,"  was  the  Colonel's  response.  "  Will 
you  be  good  enough  to  answer  my  question?" 

"  Well,"  thought  the  driver,  "  if  I've  got  'em 
the  G.  M.'s  got  *em,"  and  he  answered  :  "  I 
did  think  she  was  on  the  main  stem." 

"What  did  you  think,  Harry?"  asked  the 
superintendent  of  the  fireman,  who  was  staring 
at  the  engineer.  The  fireman  only  closed  his 
eyes  and  shook  his  head  slowly,  as  if  he  consid 
ered  them  all  crazy,  and  his  long  lashes,  dark 
with  coal  dust,  lay  upon  his  newly  washed  face 
like  the  lashes  of  a  chorus  girl. 


A    GHOST  TRAIN  ILLUSION  129 

"  Did  you  see  anything  on  your  side  ?  "  asked 
the  Colonel,  who  was  determined  to  unlock  the 
lips  of  the  fireman. 

"Not  a  thing,"  said  Harry.  "I  don't  be 
lieve  in  ghosts." 

"  It  will  not  be  necessary  for  you  to  take  out 
63  [an  accident  report],  but  I  wish  you  would 
tell  me  what  you  saw  and  how  it  affected  you," 
said  the  general  manager  to  the  engineer. 

"  May  I  ask  you  first  if  you  saw  anything, 
Colonel?"  said  the  driver. 

"  I  saw  a  locomotive  standing  on  a  spur  or 
siding  just  east  of  Coyote." 

"When  I  see  her  first,"  said  Sam,  taking 
courage  from  the  Colonel's  confession,  "  she 
was  bang  in  front  of  us,  coming  out  of  a  cut 
like  a  ball  out  of  a  cannon.  I  saw  it  was  all  up 
with  us,  but  I  naturally  shut  off —  mechanically, 
so  to  speak.  I  think  I  hooked  her  over,  but  I 
did  n't  whistle,  open  the  sand  valve,  or  set  the 
air — they  wa  n't  no  use  —  no  time;  but  just 
then  I  thought  of  little  Sammie  as  I  saw  him 
last,  hangin'  on  the  fence  by  the  seat  of  his 
pants,  an'  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  never  see 
anything  quite  so  funny,  and  I  laughed  that 


130  A    GHOST   TRAIN  ILLUSION 

hard  that  the  tears  came  in  my  eyes  and  blinded 
me.  Then  the  thought  came  to  me  that  we 
were  a  long  time  coming  together,  so  I  looks 
ahead,  an'  there  was  n't  a  thing  in  sight.  I 
asked  Harry  if  he  see  anything,  an'  he  lied  an* 
asked  if  I  see  anything,  an'  I  lied,  too,  an* 
opened  up  the  throttle  again.  That 's  all  I 
know  about  it." 

There  was  a  noticeable  increase  in  the  atten 
tion  of  the  company,  and  Tim  Flarrity,  the 
flagman,  leaning  low  toward  the  table,  crossed 
himself  and  ventured  the  prediction  that  they 
would  have  a  head-end  collision  before  they 
reached  the  junction.  "  I  never  see  a  ghost 
train  show  up  yet  that  did  n't  mean  something," 
he  added,  but  the  burst  of  laughter  that  fol 
lowed  closed  his  circuit,  and  he  said  no 
more. 

Now  the  agent  came  in  with  a  number  of 
messages  for  the  superintendent,  and  as  the 
official  began  reading  the  first  of  the  lot,  he 
began  to  smile. 

"  Read  it  out,"  said  the  Colonel.  "  Perhaps 
it  will  tell  us  something  about  the  ghost."  The 
superintendent  read :  — 


A    GHOST  TRAIN  ILLUSION  131 

"  Engine  57  is  off  the  track  and  nearly  off  the 
right  of  way  1,000  yards  east  of  Coyote  spur,  but 
still  on  her  feet." 

That  explained  the  ghost  engine.  At  the 
instant  when  the  engineer  shut  off,  the  "  sew 
ing  machine,"  just  then  rounding  a  sharp  curve, 
jumped  the  track,  lit  square  on  her  wheels,  and 
went  ploughing  out  over  the  hard  adobe  of  the 
desert.  She  rolled  and  rocked  for  a  few  sec 
onds,  and  then  came  to  a  stop  with  the  engine- 
men  still  standing  in  the  cab.  The  engine  had 
been  working  hard,  and  if  the  throttle  had  re 
mained  open,  she  might  have  made  the  curve 
all  right,  but  the  sudden  relaxation  of  all  her 
tension  caused  a  jar  that  threw  her  off  her  feet, 
and  it  was  a  lucky  jar  for  her  crew. 

Since  that  time,  however,  old  Sam  has  been 
in  hard  luck.  He  has  already  lost  three  legs. 
The  last  one,  being  caught  under  an  engine, 
was  chopped  off  by  the  conductor  with  an  ordi 
nary  axe  to  prevent  the  engineer  being  roasted 
alive.  Those  who  witnessed  the  operation  say 
that  Sam  rested  on  one  elbow  and  smoked  a 
cigar  while  the  conductor  hacked  away  at  his 
ankle.  It  was  a  wooden  leg. 


£>torp  of  CBngine  107 


THE  STORY  OF  ENGINE   107 


O  OME  fifteen  years  ago  "  Baldwins  "  received 
an  order  from  a  Western  road  for  two 
locomotives  of  a  peculiar  type.  They  were  for 
a  narrow-gauge  line  which  at  that  time  con 
nected  the  East  and  West,  and  by  which  the 
tourist  travelled  across  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
They  were  to  be  compact,  short,  strong,  and 
swift,  capable  of  pulling  like  a  mule  on  a  heavy 
grade  and  running  like  a  scared  wolf  in  the 
valley. 

At  that  time  the  concern  was  turning  out  a 
locomotive  complete  every  twenty-four  hours. 
Look  at  the  workmen  as  they  begin  to  erect 
the  two  "  Rockaways,"  as  they  were  afterward 
called,  probably  because  they  rolled  and  rocked 
when  running  at  a  high  rate  of  speed  through 
the  crooked  canons  of  Colorado.  On  the  floor 
of  the  shop  are  two  boilers,  two  sets  of  frames, 


136  THE  STORY  OF  ENGINE  107 

cylinders,  eccentrics, — in  short,  all  the  parts  of 
a  locomotive  in  duplicate ;  and  from  this  heap 
the  helpers  bring  one  of  each  of  the  duplicate 
parts,  and  the  machinists  put  them  together 
until  one  locomotive  is  completed  and  rolled 
out  to  be  painted.  Out  of  what  is  left  the  sec 
ond  engine  is  made.  There  is  no  culling  or 
sorting,  and  as  the  separate  parts  of  each  are 
made  by  one  and  the  same  pattern,  there  is  no 
good  reason  why  these  two  locomotives  should 
not  ride,  run,  and  steam  equally  well.  When 
the  two  engines  were  completed,  painted,  and 
numbered,  they  were  loaded  on  a  standard 
gauge  flat  car  and  shipped  to  the  road  for 
which  they  were  built.  When  they  arrived  and 
had  taken  stalls  in  the  round-house  at  Pueblo, 
they  became  engines  107  and  109,  and  at 
tracted  a  great  deal  of  attention  from  the  engine- 
men  of  the  division. 

"  She 's  a  scary-lookin'  devil,"  said  Baldy 
Hooten,  as  he  stood  in  front  of  the  107  ;  and 
she  really  did  look  a  bit  top  heavy  with  her  long 
legs,  short  body,  and  "  feet "  so  close  together 
that  they  could  almost  run  on  one  rail. 

"Take  her,  you  fellows  that  are  lookin'  for 


THE  STORY  OF  ENGINE  107  137 

fly  runs ;  I  do*  want  her."  And  with  that 
Baldy  walked  out  of  the  round-house  and  over 
to  the  "  Place  of  the  Triangle,"  and  shook  the 
man  there  for  a  cigar. 

When  the  two  engines  had  been  raced  around 
the  yards  a  few  days  and  "  limbered  up,"  the  109 
was  coupled  on  to  the  Pacific  express  one  night 
and  introduced  to  the  curves  and  corners  of  the 
Grand  Canon.  The  road  then  was  not  what  it 
is  now.  The  next  time  you  go  through  there, 
if  you  sit  on  the  rear  platform,  you  will  notice 
that  the  crumbling  grade  that  marks  the  route 
of  the  old  narrow  gauge,  crosses  the  present 
standard  track  one  hundred  times  in  fifty  miles. 
It  was  so  crooked,  Baldy  said,  that  a  new  runner 
was  sure,  at  some  of  the  corners,  to  shut  off  for 
his  own  headlight.  However,  the  109  held  the 
rail  and  made  a  good  record ;  so  good,  in  fact, 
that,  notwithstanding  it  was  Friday,  the  107  was 
sent  out  on  the  following  night.  She  left  the 
house  an  hour  before  leaving  time,  and  it  was 
lucky  she  did,  for  she  ran  off  the  track  at  the 
water  tank  and  was  got  back  barely  in  time  to 
take  her  train  out. 

"  No   man  can  call  me  superstitious,"  said 


138  THE   STORY  OF  ENGINE  107 

the  engineer.  "  But  they  ain't  no  sense  in 
temptin'  Providence  by  takin'  a  new  engine  out 
on  a  Friday." 

"  It  '11  be  midnight  before  you  reach  the 
canon,"  said  the  night  foreman,  "and  there  is 
no  danger  this  side." 

"  There  's  danger  in  bed  ef  it 's  down  that 
way,"  was  the  sullen  response  of  the  driver,  as 
he  backed  down  and  coupled  on  to  the  express. 

It  was  one  of  those  clear  moonlight  nights 
that  make  every  peak  and  pinnacle  on  the 
mountain  ranges  stand  out  as  clear  and  distinct 
against  the  cold  sky  as  they  do  in  the  daytime ; 
a  moon  that  shames  the  headlight,  and  shows 
the  twin  threads  of  steel  running  away  off  yon 
der  and  meeting  and  going  on  together  where 
the  darkness  begins.  Being  new,  with  a  clean 
boiler,  the  107  steamed  like  a  burning  house, 
and  the  fireman,  not  being  affected  by  the  fact 
of  its  still  being  Friday,  found  time  to  hang  out 
the  open  window,  and  watch  the  silvery  ripples 
that  were  romping  on  the  cold,  white  bosom  of 
the  winding  river  along  whose  banks  the  road 
lay. 

Not  a  word  had  passed  between  the  engineer 


THE   STORY  OF  ENGINE  107  139 

and  fireman  since  they  started  out,  and  now 
they  were  swinging  round  the  curves  at  a  good 
express  gait.  The  new  engine  was  rocking  like 
a  light  boat  on  a  rough  sea,  but  otherwise  she 
was  riding  as  easily  as  a  coach.  It  was  n  150 
when  they  passed  Good-night,  and  two  minutes 
later  the  fireman  was  startled  by  that  dreadful 
word  which  almost  every  fireman  has  heard  at 
some  time  or  another  :  "  Jump  !  " 

It  is  as  natural  for  an  engineer  to  call  to  his 
fireman  to  jump  and  save  himself —  for  he  is  of 
no  use  on  a  locomotive  about  to  be  wrecked  — 
as  it  is  for  the  engineer  to  remain  at  his  post. 

"Jump!"  shouted  the  driver;  and  the  fire 
man  glancing  ahead  saw  a  confused  mingling  of 
horns,  hoofs,  and  tails  between  him  and  the 
track.  He  jumped  and  came  down  on  a  bunch 
of  sage  brush  amid  a  shower  of  steers,  and  saw 
the  107  leave  the  track,  plough  along  the  side  of 
the  low  bank,  and  finally  stop  without  turning 
over.  The  train  —  the  engineer  having  set  the 
air  —  stopped  with  all  the  cars,  save  the  mail 
car,  still  on  the  track. 

Thus,  the  107  on  her  first  trip  made  a  bad 
record  and  got  herself  talked  about.  Of  course 


140  THE  STORY  OF  ENGINE  107 

she  was  put  back  on  the  run  as  soon  as  a  few 
slight  injuries  were  repaired,  for  it  was  no  un 
usual  thing  in  those  days,  where  the  track  was 
not  fenced  in,  to  plough  up  a  herd  of  cattle  on 
a  run  like  this.  In  fact,  a  railroad  track  seems 
to  be  a  favorite  place  for  cattle  to  sleep  and 
deaf  people  to  walk.  The  107  went  along  for 
a  week  or  more  and  her  crew  had  begun  to 
think  well  of  her,  when  she  disgraced  herself  by 
breaking  both  parallel  rods,  —  those  bars  of 
steel  that  tie  the  wheels  together,  —  and  with 
the  broken  ends  whipped  her  cab  into  splinters 
before  the  fireman  could  crawl  over  her  high 
boiler-head  and  shut  her  off;  for  the  engineer 
had  both  legs  broken,  and  from  the  ripped  and 
riddled  deck  was  unable  to  reach  the  throttle, 
though  the  fireman  said  he  tried,  standing  on 
the  two  stubs  of  his  broken  legs. 

When  the  "  scary-lookin'  devil,"  as  Baldy 
Hooten  had  called  her,  had  gone  to  the  shops 
and  her  driver  to  the  hospital,  the  trainmen  and 
enginemen  began  to  discuss  her  from  a  super 
stitious  standpoint.  Not  one  railroad  employee 
in  a  dozen  will  admit  that  he  is  the  least  little 
bit  superstitious,  but  watch  them  when  they  see 


THE  STORY  OF  ENGINE  107  141 

a  new  moon,  and  if  nine  out  of  every  ten  don't 
go  down  in  their  clothes  and  "turn  over  silver," 
it 's  because  they  are  "  broke  ;  "  and  in  the  left 
breast  pocket  of  three  out  of  every  five  switchmen 
you  meet,  sandwiched  in  between  a  lead  pencil 
and  a  toothbrush,  you  will  find  the  fuzzy  foot  of  a 
graveyard  rabbit,  killed  in  the  dark  of  the  moon. 

For  the  third  time  within  three  months  from 
the  day  she  left  the  Baldwin  shops,  the  107  was 
limbered  up  and  put  onto  the  regular  night  run 
from  Pueblo  to  Leadville ;  and  on  the  second 
trip  she  left  the  track  at  a  switch  and  turned 
over,  killed  the  engineer  and  fireman,  and  crip 
pled  the  mail  agent.  The  switch,  upon  exami 
nation,  was  found  to  be  all  right,  and  in  fact  no 
one  seemed  able  to  give  any  good  reason  why 
the  engine  should  have  left  the  rail ;  only  her 
old  driver,  turning  over  in  his  little  iron  bed, 
said  "  Friday,"  and  went  to  sleep  again. 

Of  course,  the  railway  officers  simply  laughed 
at  the  foolish  talk  of  the  men  about  the  Rocka- 
way  being  "unlucky"  because  she  went  out  on 
Friday,  but  when  she  was  rebuilt  she  was  trans 
ferred  and  put  on  a  less  important  run,  with 
not  so  many  people  behind  her. 


142  THE   STORY  OF  ENGINE   107 

11  It 's  all  poppycock,"  said  Mclvor,  oiling  the 
engine,  "this  Friday  talk  is  all  child's  talk;" 
then  he  stopped  short,  looked  at  the  new  moon, 
and  made  a  wish. 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  said  Paymaster  O'Connor, 
who,  noticing  Mclvor's  play  at  the  moon,  worked 
his  fingers  in  his  trousers  pocket  and  made  riot 
with  the  silver  there. 

The  unlucky  engine  was  taking  out  the  pay 
train,  consisting  of  two  light  cars.  The  first 
day  was  uneventful,  but  at  the  close  of  the 
second  day,  while  they  were  rolling  down  the 
Black  Canon  trying  to  make  Cimarron  for  the 
superintendent's  special,  they  turned  a  corner 
and  came  suddenly  upon  a  big  rock  in  the 
middle  of  the  track.  Mclvor  made  a  desperate 
attempt  to  stop,  but  before  he  could  do  so,  the 
107  had  her  belly  on  the  bowlder  and  hung 
there,  her  wheels  still  revolving  as  though  she 
were  trying  to  claw  the  rock  to  pieces. 

"  What  is  to  be  will  be,  if  it  neveh  comes  to 
pass,"  said  Mclvor  as  he  climbed  out  of  the 
cab.  "  I  neveh  did  believe  that  I  was  bo'n  to 
be  killed  on  an  engine." 

For  a  long  time  after  that,  the  107  stood  out 


THE  STORY  OF  ENGINE   107  143 

in  the  field  at  the  company's  shops  near  Denver, 
where  all  the  old  relics  were  side  tracked,  and 
the  employees  began  to  hope  that  she  might  be 
allowed  to  remain  there ;  but  the  company,  if 
for  no  other  reason  than  to  prevent  the  em 
ployees  from  becoming  hopelessly  superstitious, 
put  her  into  the  shops,  rebuilt  and  repainted 
her,  so  that  when  she  came  out  again  to  be  lim 
bered  up  she  looked  better  than  ever  before. 
When  she  had  "found  herself  "  again,  as  Mr. 
Kipling  would  say,  she  was  sent  back  to  the 
mountain  division,  the  scene  of  her  last  es 
capade.  Her  coming  was  not  regarded  as  a 
joyful  event  by  the  trainmen  and  enginemen 
of  the  fourth  division,  and  the  division  master 
mechanic  knew  it,  and  for  some  time  she  stood 
in  the  round-house  with  the  dust  and  ashes  on 
her  jacket,  until  her  rods  rusted  and  her  bell 
began  to  corrode.  Then,  for  the  same  reason 
that  she  had  been  brought  out  of  the  field  at 
Denver,  she  was  taken  from  the  round-house 
and  put  in  order. 

One  of  the  regular  engines  on  what  in  the 
early  days  had  been  called  "  The  Death  Run  " 
having  been  disabled,  the  Rockaway  was  ordered 


144  THE  STORY  OF  ENGINE  107 

out  in  her  place.  While  every  man  on  the  road 
dreaded  her  and  hated  the  sight  of  her,  there 
was  not  one  among  them  who  would  shun  the 
responsibility  of  handling  her  if  it  fell  to  him ; 
so  when  Engineer  Ryan  and  Fireman  North 
were  called  to  take  the  night  run  with  the  107 
they  made  nothing  of  it,  but  signed  the  book, 
said  good- by  to  their  families,  and  went  away. 
It  may  be  that  each  lingered  at  the  door  a  little 
longer  than  usual,  and  took  an  extra  kiss  or  two 
from  their  wives  and  little  ones,  but  that  was 
all.  They  did  not  mention  the  fact  to  their 
wives  that  the  engine  on  the  call  book  was  the 
fatal  107.  To  do  that  would  have  been  to 
increase  the  anxiety  of  the  women  folks  without 
diminishing  the  danger  of  the  trip. 

Ryan,  though  usually  cheerful  and  entertain 
ing  with  his  delightfully  musical  Irish  accent, 
was  silent  as  he  went  about  oiling  and  inspect 
ing  the  machinery,  and  North  looked  like  a 
man  going  to  his  own  funeral. 

The  train  came  in  on  time,  drawn  by  the  109, 
and  she  stood  with  calm  dignity  on  the  siding, 
while  her  wild,  wayward,  and  disreputable  sister, 
all  gaudy  in  her  new  paint,  with  clanging  bell 


THE   STORY  OF  ENGINE   107  145 

and  blowing  steam,  with  polished  headlight  and 
new  flags  fluttering  at  her  shoulders,  glided  back 
ward,  like  a  gay  girl  on  roller  skates,  to  take  her 
place.  She  had  a  helper  up  the  hill,  one  of 
those  heavy-mounted  climbers,  and  when  they 
came  to  the  steep  grade,  and  the  powerful 
mogul  with  steady  step  marked  perfect  time, 
the  Rockaway  chafed  and  fretted  like  a  spoiled 
colt.  At  every  curve  her  feet  would  fly  from 
under  her,  and  her  wheels  go  round  so  fast  that 
it  seemed  she  would  strip  herself;  and  when  the 
driver  shut  off  and  dropped  sand  to  allow  her 
to  get  her  footing  again,  she  blew  off  steam  and 
wasted  the  water  which  is  so  precious  on  a 
heavy  grade.  Between  stations  she  would  foam 
and  throw  water  out  of  her  stack,  and  when  shut 
off  show  dry  blue  steam  in  her  gauges  ;  so  when 
they  stopped  the  driver  had  to  hold  her  on  the 
centre,  with  her  valves  closed  and  throttle  wide 
open,  for  that  keeps  the  boiler  strained  and 
holds  the  water  up  over  the  flues  and  crown 
sheet.  In  good  time  the  mogul  dragged  her 
and  her  train  to  the  top,  10,050  feet  above  the 
sea,  and  left  her  to  fall  down  the  western 
slope. 


146  THE  STORY  OF  ENGINE   107 

Ryan  smiled  at  " Noah"  North  and  he  smiled 
back  over  the  boiler  head  as  they  whistled  for 
Gunnison,  but  their  smiles  soon  changed  to  sad 
ness,  for  the  despatcher  came  out  with  an  order 
for  them  to  continue  over  another  division. 
This  took  them  through  the  Black  Canon,  which 
was  then  to  trainmen  what  the  Black  Sea  is  to 
sailors.  A  new  road  in  a  mountain  country  is 
always  dangerous  until  the  scenery  gets  settled, 
and  the  loosened  rocks  roll  down  and  the  cuts 
are  properly  sloped ;  and  this  piece  of  track 
through  the  Black  Canon  was  then  especially 
so,  though  not  now. 

They  were  nearing  the  place  where  Mclvor 
had  found  the  rock.  The  night  was  clear,  the 
rail  good,  the  grade  easy,  and  they  were  turning 
the  curves  gracefully,  while  now  and  then  the 
steam  —  for  she  was  always  hot  —  escaping  from 
the  dome  of  the  Rockaway  screamed  in  the 
canon,  and  startled  a  lion  or  caused  a  band  of 
elk  or  deer  to  scamper  away  up  a  side  canon. 

An  excursion  party,  in  heavy  wraps,  sat  in  an 
open  observation  car  at  the  rear  of  the  train, 
viewing  the  wonderful  scenery,  made  weird  by 
the  stillness  of  the  night.  How  wild  the  walls 


THE  STORY  OF  ENGINE  107  147 

looked  with  their  white  faces  where  the  moon 
light  fell  and  dark  recesses  where  the  shadows 
were.  To  the  right,  beyond  the  river,  the  falls 
of  Chipeta  leaped  from  the  rocks  five  hundred 
feet  above  the  roadbed  and  tumbled  into  the 
water  below ;  while  to  the  left  Curicanti's  needle 
stood  up  among  the  stars. 

It  was  not  the  time  of  year  for  rocks  to  fall, 
for  rocks  only  fall  in  the  spring,  and  this  was 
summer,  but  the  unexpected  is  hardest  to  avoid ; 
and  now,  for  some  unaccountable  reason,  a  great 
rock,  whose  wake  was  afterward  followed  for 
more  than  a  mile  up  the  mountains,  came  down 
with  the  speed  of  a  cannon  ball,  and  striking  the 
Rockaway  just  forward  of  the  air  pump,  cut  her 
clear  from  her  tank  and  shot  her  into  the  river 
with  poor  "  Noah  "  North  underneath  her.  The 
swift  current  brought  the  lucky  Irish  engineer 
out  of  the  cab,  however,  and  at  the  next  bend 
of  the  river  threw  him  out  on  a  rock.  The 
parting  of  the  air  hose  set  the  automatic  brakes, 
which,  as  the  train  was  on  a  down  grade,  were 
already  applied  lightly,  and  —  the  track  being 
uninjured  —  the  train  stopped  before  the  second 
car  had  passed  the  point  where  the  engine  left 


148  THE   STORY  OF  ENGINE  107 

the  rail.  The  murderous  rock,  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  deep  stream,  showed  still  three  or 
four  feet  above  the  surface  of  the  river. 

The  roadraaster,  another  Irishman,  whose 
name,  I  think,  was  Hickey,  came  from  the 
smoking  car,  took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance, 
and  being  used  to  such  wrecks,  ran  along  the 
bank  below  to  be  at  hand  if  either  of  the  engine- 
men  came  to  the  surface. 

Hickey,  overjoyed  at  finding  Ryan,  dazed  and 
dripping,  seated  upon  a  rock,  caught  the  wet 
driver  in  his  arms,  —  for  they  were  very  dear 
friends, — and,  turning  the  pale  face  up  to  the 
moon,  asked  anxiously  :  "  Tom,  are  yez  hurted  ? 
I  say,  Tom,  spake  to  me.  Tom,  tell  me,  are 
yez  hurted?  " 

Tom,  upon  hearing  the  voice  of  his  friend, 
realized  that  he  was  really  alive,  and  said  coolly  : 
"  Hurted,  now  why  the  devil  should  I  be 
hurted  ?  " 

" That's  so,"  said  Hickey,  whose  wit  was  as 
handy  as  was  that  of  his  friend.  "  That 's  so,  I 
wonder  yez  got  wetted." 

They  worked  for  two  days  and  nights  before 
the  Rockaway  could  be  lifted,  then  she  came 


THE  STORY  OF  ENGINE  107  149 

up  slowly,  and  "Noah's"  body  floated  to  the 
surface  and  was  taken  back  to  Salida  and  buried. 
It  would  be  absurd  to  say  that  the  railroad  com 
pany  was  in  any  way  responsible  for  the  acci 
dent,  but  it  gave  Mrs.  North  five  hundred 
dollars  to  start  in  business  for  herself. 

Engine  the  107  was  not  rebuilt  for  a  long  time 
and  was  never  again  employed  in  passenger  ser 
vice.  The  foreman  in  one  of  the  repair  shops 
wrote  to  Philadelphia  and  learned  that  the  109 
was  completed  on  Thursday  and  the  107  on 
Friday.  As  I  said  a  while  ago,  railroad  em 
ployees  are  not  superstitious,  —  they  will  all  tell 
you  so,  —  much  less  railway  officers  \  but  it  is  a 
fact  to-day  that  a  new  locomotive  or  a  locomo 
tive  that  has  been  rebuilt  is  never  taken  out  on 
the  Denver  and  Rio  Grande  on  Friday.  No 
order  was  ever  issued  forbidding  it,  but  it  came 
to  be  one  of  the  unwritten  rules  of  the  road, 
—  a  sort  of  Monroe  doctrine  that  is  always 
respected. 

And  now  after  a  dozen  years,  —  after  all  that 
has  been  related  here,  which  includes  only  what 
the  writer  remembers,  —  the  tank  and  cylinders 
of  the  107  are  rusting  in  the  scrap  heap  at  Salida, 


150  THE  STORY  OF  ENGINE  107 

while  her  boiler,  stripped  of  its  bright  jacket, 
is  made  to  boil  water  for  a  pump  at  Roubideau. 
But  every  Thursday  night  at  midnight,  the  fire 
is  drawn,  on  Friday  the  boiler  is  washed  out, 
and  at  midnight  she  is  fired  up  again. 


Catching  a  Hunatoap  (Engine 


CATCHING  A   RUNAWAY   ENGINE 


'T^HE  grade  on  La  Veta  Mountain  is  over  two 
hundred  feet  to  the  mile,  and  when  a 
locomotive  gets  away  it  drops  down  the  hill 
much  as  a  bucket  drops  down  a  well  when  the 
rope  breaks.  Jakie  Mover  and  a  new  man  who 
had  been  hired  from  an  Eastern  road,  had 
helped  the  west-bound  passenger  train  up  the 
hill,  and  were  ordered  by  the  train  despatcher 
to  turn  at  the  summit  and  run  light  to  La  Veta, 
which  is  at  the  foot  of  La  Veta  Mountain. 
These  Eastern  runners  were  called  "prairie 
sailors  "  by  the  mountain  men,  who  took  great 
pleasure  in  chasing  the  tender-foot  drivers  down 
the  hill.  Jakie  was  one  of  those  dare-devils 
famous  for  fast  runs,  and  to  prevent  his  becom 
ing  "  funny,"  the  despatcher  had  ordered  him 
out  first. 

Jakie  dropped  down  off  the  east  leg  of  the 
"  Y,"  took  a  copy  of  the  order  from  the  opera- 


154          CA  TCHING  A    R  UNA  WA  Y  ENGINE 

tor,  and  began  to  fix  himself  for  a  comfortable 
ride  down  the  hill.  The  fireman  banked  his 
fire,  and  made  himself  comfortable  also,  for 
these  mountain  men  have  nothing  to  do  on  the 
down  grade.  If  the  run  is  twenty-two  miles, 
they  will  do  it  in  an  hour,  for  which  they  are 
allowed  a  half  day,  the  fireman  receiving  one 
dollar  and  twenty  cents,  and  the  engineer  two 
dollars.  Running  on  a  mountain  is  more  or 
less  hazardous,  but.no  more  so  than  politics, 
biking,  or  bull-fighting.  There  is  no  dearth, 
however,  of  opportunity  for  the  daring  driver 
who  is  "  laying  "  for  a  show  to  distinguish  him 
self;  but  the  opportunity  usually  comes  when  it 
is  least  expected.  It  was  so  in  this  instance. 
Jakie  had  barely  fixed  his  feet  comfortably 
among  the  oil-cans,  when  he  was  startled  by  the 
wild  scream  of  a  locomotive  calling  for  brakes. 
One  short,  sharp  blast,  under  these  circum 
stances,  signifies  that  the  engineer  wants  to 
stop,  but  can't,  and  so  publishes  his  embarrass 
ment.  Glancing  back,  Jakie  saw  the  fireman 
shoot  out  at  one  window  and  the  "  prairie 
sailor  "  out  at  the  other,  leaving  the  locomotive 
free  to  chase  Jakie's.  Both  engines  were  going 


CATCHING  A    RUNAWAY  ENGINE          155 

at  a  lively  gait,  —  too  lively  to  make  jumping 
for  Jakie  less  hazardous  than  dying  at  his  post. 
This  statement  is  made  as  a  fact,  and  not  to 
insinuate  that  Jakie  was  shy  on  "sand,"  for  he 
was  not.  He  was  an  old-timer  on  the  hill,  and 
had  his  own  engine  under  complete  control. 
He  could  stop  her  in  three  telegraph  poles, 
but  the  other  engine  would  surely  play  leap 
frog  with  him  if  he  did ;  so  how  to  stop  them 
both  was  a  problem  which  Jakie  had  to  solve 
inside  of  five  seconds.  He  told  his  fireman  to 
jump,  but  the  fireman,  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  refused  to  take  Jakie 's  signal.  If  he 
jumped  on  his  side  he  would  smash  up  against 
a  rough  rock  wall,  and  on  the  other  side  it  was 
at  least  three-quarters  of  a  mile  to  the  bottom 
of  the  gulch ;  so  the  fireman  elected  to  die  with 
the  engineer,  and  have  the  whole  matter  settled 
in  one  issue  of  the  Huerfano  County  Cactus. 
These  arrangements  were  made  by  the  engineer 
and  fireman  in  much  less  time  than  it  takes  to 
tell  the  tale. 

It  was  not  necessary  for  Jakie  to  slow  down 
in  order  to  allow  the  wild  engine  to  come  up 
with  him ;  she  was  coming  up  at  every  revolu- 


156          CATCHING  A    RUN  A  IV AY  ENGINE 

tion  of  her  wheels.  The  delicate  task  which 
Jakie  had  to  perform  was  to  get  a  good  gait  on, 
so  that  when  the  runaway  struck  him,  both 
engines  might  still  remain  on  the  rail ;  and  that 
he  proceeded  to  do.  Round  curves,  reverse 
curves,  through  tunnels  and  hemi-tunnels,  over 
high  wooden  bridges,  and  down  deep  cuts, 
Jakie  slammed  the  403  at  a  rate  which  the 
builders  of  the  time-card  had  never  dreamed  of. 
The  right  of  way  behind  the  flying  engines  was 
literally  strewn  with  headlights,  white  lights,  oil 
cans,  coal,  smoking  tobacco,  and  pictures  of 
play-actresses,  —  in  fact,  a  little  of  everything 
that  properly  belongs  on  a  locomotive.  Now 
and  then  Jakie  glanced  back  only  to  see  the 
rolling  engine  bearing  down  upon  his  unpro 
tected  tank.  Nearer  and  nearer  she  came,  and 
at  last,  as  he  headed  into  a  short  tangent,  Jakie 
concluded  that  here  was  a  good  place  to  settle 
the  matter.  He  had  even  gone  so  far  in  his 
deliberations  as  to  grasp  the  reverse  lever  to 
slow  down,  but  it  was  not  necessary.  When 
the  wild  engine  found  the  tangent  and  freed 
her  flanges  from  the  hard,  grinding  curves,  she 
shot  ahead  as  though  she  had  been  thrown 


CATCHING   A    RUNAWAY  ENGINE  157 

from  the  mouth  of  a  great  cannon,  and  the  next 
moment  she  had  Jakie's  tank  on  her  pilot. 
The  force  of  the  collision  threw  Jakie  and  his 
fireman  both  back  into  the  coal-tank,  but  aside 
from  a  few  bruises  they  were  unhurt. 

Climbing  into  the  cab  again,  Jakie  left  the 
fireman  in  charge  of  the  403,  and  undertook  to 
climb  back  over  the  tank  and  board  the  run 
away.  The  task  under  ordinary  circumstances 
would  have  been  a  difficult  one,  but  at  the  rate 
they  were  now  running  it  was  almost  impossible. 
As  the  flying  engines  left  the  short  tangent  and 
dashed  into  another  group  of  curves  they  rolled 
frightfully,  and  made  it  almost  impossible  for 
Jakie  to  hang  on  to  the  hand-railing.  But  he 
was  so  accustomed  to  being  slammed  about  that 
he  managed  to  stick  to  the  wreck,  and  finally 
reached  the  cab  of  the  second  engine.  The 
curves,  so  long  as  the  engines  could  make  them, 
were  to  the  advantage  of  the  runaways;  and 
now,  what  with  the  resistance  they  made,  and 
the  second  engine  being  put  far  down  in  the 
back  motion,  the  locomotives  began  to  slow 
down,  and  were  finally  brought  to  a  standstill. 

It  was  a  great  achievement,  and  Jakie  was 


1 58          CA  TCH1NG  A    RUN  A  WA  Y  ENGINE 

the  hero  of  the  day.  "  Windy  "  Davis  said 
afterward  that  Jakie  stopped  them  because  he 
was  unable  to  get  off,  but  the  railway  officials 
did  not  agree  with  "  Windy."  Mr.  Sample,  the 
general  master  mechanic,  believed  that  Jakie 
had  done  a  brave  act,  and  he  set  about  to  see 
him  rewarded  for  his  bravery.  This  kind  offi 
cial  —  who  looks  like  Lincoln,  though  not  so 
homely  —  caused  Jakie  to  receive  a  gold  watch, 
and  money  to  buy  a  ranch  or  waste  in  riotous 
living.  I  don't  know  how  much  money,  but  I 
have  heard  it  stated  all  the  way  from  two  hun 
dred  to  one  thousand  dollars.  At  all  events, 
it  was  enough  to  prove  Jakie  a  good  emer 
gency  man ;  and  when  you  cross  La  Veta 
Mountain  again,  ask  for  Jakie  Moyer,  —  he  's 
the  boy. 


Mailtos^ 


A   RAILWAY   MAIL  CLERK 


"DAILWAY  mail  clerks  are  not  railway  em 
ployees,  although  they  are  under  the  or 
ders  of  the  railway  officials  when  on  the  road. 
They  are,  as  a  class,  a  bright  lot  of  men.  They 
bring  more  brains  and  acquired  skill  into  their 
work  than  any  class  of  government  employees 
in  proportion  to  the  amount  of  money  they 
draw.  They  ride  the  fastest  trains  in  the  coun 
try,  and  ride  ahead.  On  most  roads  their  car 
is  coupled  to  the  locomotive,  and  they  take 
whatever  is  left  when  the  grim  reaper  has  fin 
ished  with  the  enginemen.  Statistics  show 
that  the  mortality  among  railway  mail  clerks 
through  railroad  accidents  is  greater  than  was 
that  among  the  troops  in  the  civil  war.  These 
clerks  are  required  to  pass  an  examination  at  a 
rating  of  more  than  ninety  per  cent.  Depart 
ment  employees  at  Washington  are  given  thirty 
days  vacation  each  year,  but  the  railway  mail 


1 62  A    RAILWAY  MAIL    CLERK 

clerk  is  called  upon  to  face  the  dangers  of  mid 
night  rides  twelve  months  in  the  year. 

I  knew  one  mail  clerk  intimately,  and  found 
him  one  of  the  most  interesting  characters  I 
ever  met.  The  story  of  his  eventful  life  would 
be  interesting  at  any  time,  and  ought  to  be 
especially  apropos  here  as  an  illustration  of  the 
character  of  the  average  railway  mail  clerk,  and 
of  the  dangers  through  which  they  pass. 

The  farms  in  Illinois  upon  which  we  were 
reared  were  not  far  apart,  but  "Doc,"  who  lived 
with  his  uncle,  left  home  before  he  was  twenty- 
one  and  went  West.  I  had  been  to  town  to  get 
the  plough  sharpened,  and  on  my  way  home  I 
saw  "  Doc  "  climbing  across  a  cloddy  field  behind 
a  harrow,  and  he  hailed  me.  When  he  came  out 
he  hung  his  chin  over  the  top  of  the  fence  and 
said  :  "  I'm  goin'  West." 

"When?" 

"  To-night." 

«  NO  ! " 

"  Yes.     Will  you  jine  me?  " 

"What '11  it  cost?"  I  asked. 

"  Forty-nine  dollars,  second  class,  from  St. 
Louis  to  Denver." 


A    RAILWAY  MAIL    CLERK  163 

"  Have  you  got  the  money  ?  " 

Doc  shook  his  head. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  that  much  money?  " 

"  Well,  not  at  one  look,  but  I  've  got  it  all 
figured  out." 

"  How  much  have  you  got?  " 

"  Have  n't  got  any,  but  I  got  a  job  at  Whiti- 
cer's  stable  in  Carr  street,  an'  if  you  '11  go  I  '11 
see  that  you  never  want.  We  can  sleep  in  the 
haymow  and  board  around." 

"  How  '11  we  get  to  St.  Louis?  "  I  asked. 

"  Ride  when  we  're  tired  o'  walkin'  an'  walk 
when  we  can't  ride,"  was  his  reply. 

"  I  'm  in  the  silk  an'  you  're  in  the  tassel,"  he 
added  thoughtfully.  "  Life  is  all  before  us,  but 
you  can't  get  anywhere  on  a  farm.  Look  at  the 
jays  around  here.  What  do  they  know?  They 
simply  stand  round  on  one  foot  like  a  gander, 
till  the  beard  breaks  through  the  freckles,  and 
then  they  push  the  old  folks  off  and  take  the 
plough,  and  in  a  little  while  get  pushed  off  them 
selves.  Life  on  a  farm  is  one  continual  round 
of  work  and  want.  Will  you  jine  me?  " 

The  thought  of  getting  up  at  morning  and 
not  knowing  where  I  was  going  to  sleep  at 


164  A    RAILWAY  MA  IL   CL ERK 

night  frightened  me  and  I  told  Doc  so,  and  so 
we  parted. 

A  few  years  later,  when  the  west-bound  train 
stopped  at  a  little  bleak  and  dreary  mountain 
town  where  I,  having  gone  West,  had  elected  to 
drop  anchor,  I  looked  out  from  the  car  window 
and  saw  Doc  sitting  close  up  to  the  crupper  of 
an  old  sorrel  horse  that  was  hitched  to  an 
express  wagon. 

I  went  over  to  him  at  once,  for  I  was  lone 
some.  A  mountain  town  is  not  a  thing  one  is 
apt  to  love  at  first  sight.  Desolate.  That  is 
better  than  four  columns  of  agate  to  describe 
the  place.  The  dry  March  winds  came  out  of 
the  canon  and  swept  the  sand  of  the  mesa  up 
into  eddies  that  swished  and  swirled  in  around 
your  collar  and  cut  your  face.  The  sunlight  was 
so  dazzling  that  it  bewildered  one  and  seemed 
unreal,  and  the  cold  winds  were  constantly  con 
tradicting  its  warmth. 

"Are  you  homesick,  Doc?"  I  asked,  as  I 
rode  up  town  with  him,  for  he  was  there  to 
haul  people  and  their  baggage  up  to  the  hotel. 

"  Nop,"  he  said,  "  it 's  the  dry  wind  ;  it 's 
busted  my  lip  so  that  I  look  like  I  'in  goin'  to 


A    RAILWAY  MAIL   CLERK  165 

cry  when  I  'm  tryin'  to  laugh.  I  'm  goin'  back 
home  this  fall,"  he  added,  after  a  pause,  "  to 
get  my  money,  —  I  'm  twenty-one  now,  —  but 
I  'm  comin'  back  out  here  ;  this  country  is  all 
right." 

Doc,  who  had  earned  his  title  by  doctoring 
his  uncle's  horses,  had  inherited  a  little  fortune 
of  eighteen  hundred  dollars,  and  when  the  sum 
mer  had  come  and  gone,  he  went  back  home 
in  a  Pullman  car,  for  he  had  saved  fifty  dollars 
out  of  his  salary  of  sixty  dollars  and  board  every 
month. 

Five  years  later,  in  the  dawning  of  the  morn 
ing,  as  I  was  climbing  out  of  an  upper  berth  at 
another  mountain  town,  a  man  caught  hold  of 
my  coat-tail,  and  I  found  that  the  "  man  under 
my  bed"  was  Doc  Pippin.  He  said  he  was 
living  in  Denver  ;  so  was  I,  and  in  a  few  days  he 
came  in  to  see  me.  He  came  often  and  told 
the  best  stories  I  had  ever  heard.  He  was  thin 
and  pale,  and  I  noticed  that  he  coughed  and 
pounded  his  left  lung  when  he  did  so.  These 
stories  were  not  told  to  me  for  publication,  but 
I  know  he  will  not  care,  for  he  is  careless  now. 

Doc   went   to    Chicago    after   receiving   his 


1 66  A    RAILWAY  MAIL   CLERK 

money,  and  became  acquainted  with  a  well 
known  detective.  I  think  he  said  it  was  Billy 
Pinkerton.  It  was  like  the  Pinkertons  to  de 
tect  in  this  almost  beardless  boy  a  remark 
ably  intelligent  person. 

Pippin  was  offered  employment ;  he  accepted 
it,  and  was  sent  at  once  to  a  small  town  in 
Illinois  to  find  out  a  band  of  thieves  who  were 
stealing  hogs  and  robbing  shops. 

If  Doc  had  tried  he  could  never  have  be 
come  a  good  dresser.  Even  clothes  that  were 
made  for  him  did  n't  fit,  and  he  wore  his  hat 
crosswise,  like  the  leading  man  at  a  French 
funeral.  His  appearance  upon  this  occasion 
was  in  his  favor,  and  he  was  not  long  in  form 
ing  the  acquaintance  of  the  toughest  lot  of 
loafers  in  the  town.  They  liked  Doc,  as  every 
one  did  who  knew  him,  but  it  was  a  long  time 
before  they  would  trust  him.  Doc's  money 
gave  out  and  he  tried  to  borrow,  and  the  gang 
gave  him  the  laugh.  "  Git  out  an'  turn  a  trick 
—  work,"  said  one  of  the  men. 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  Show  me  and  then  watch 
me,"  said  Doc. 

"See  that  jay  ridin'  out  o'town?"  said  the 


A    RAILWAY  MAIL   CLERK  167 

tough,  nodding  down  the  road  where  a  lone 
horseman  was  going  away  with  the  sunset  on 
his  back. 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  he  's  goin'  out  to  his  place  in  the 
country,  —  goes  every  Sat'day  night  an'  comes 
back  Monday ;  hold  'im  up." 

Doc  knew  the  man,  as  he  knew  nearly  every 
man  in  the  place,  by  the  description  given  him 
at  Chicago,  and  by  the  middle  of  the  following 
week  this  wealthy  citizen  had  been  notified 
from  headquarters  that  he  would  be  held  up 
on  the  next  Saturday  night.  Doc  was  at  his 
post,  and  as  the  lone  horseman  came  down 
the  road,  the  highwayman  stepped  out  from  the 
shadows  of  a  jack  oak  and  covered  his  man. 

That  night  the  gang  drank  up  the  best  part 
of  twenty-eight  dollars  and  fifty  cents,  and  voted 
Doc  a  dead  game  "  toucher." 

The  verdancy  of  the  gang  he  had  to  deal 
with  made  Doc's  work  comparatively  easy. 
He  invariably  drank  gin  and  water,  and  by  a 
simple  trick  that  a  child  ought  to  have  detected 
—  the  trick  of  drinking  the  water  and  leaving 
the  gin  —  he  always  kept  sober. 


1 68  A    RAILWAY  MAIL    CLERK 

When  the  proceeds  of  Doc's  raid  had  been 
expended,  together  with  the  seven  dollars  re 
ceived  for  the  "jay's"  watch,  the  gang  deter 
mined  to  rob  a  hardware  store.  The  job  had 
been  undertaken  once,  but  had  failed.  The 
time,  at  Doc's  suggestion,  was  fixed  for  elec 
tion  night.  A  great  many  farmers,  he  said, 
would  be  in  to  vote  and  trade,  and  the  people 
being  either  drunk  or  tired  would  sleep  soundly 
when  once  asleep;  and  the  gang  voted  that 
Doc  was  a  great  thinker. 

The  time  arrived,  the  store  was  entered,  and 
when  they  were  all  in,  Doc  ducked  down  be 
hind  the  counter  and  reached  the  rear  end  of 
the  store.  Now  a  big  bull's-eye  was  turned 
upon  the  gang,  who  arose  from  their  work  to 
look  down  the  barrels  of  a  half  dozen  shot-guns. 
One  of  the  gang,  seeing  Doc  with  the  sheriffs 
party,  made  a  play  for  his  pistol,  but  the  sheriff 
shoved  his  shot-gun  yet  nearer  the  robber's 
face  and  said  softly,  "  Be  quiet,"  and  he  was 
calm. 

The  next  day  the  father  of  one  of  the  gang, 
who  was  himself  a  hard  man,  made  an  attempt 
to  kill  the  detective ;  and,  having  done  his 


A    RAILWAY  MAIL   CLERK  169 

work,  Doc  departed.  Friends  of  the  accused 
hired  a  lawyer  who  made  a  beautiful  picture  of 
these  innocent  lads  who  had  lived  all  their  lives 
in  this  quiet  country  town,  and  who  had  never 
been  guilty  of  a  wrong  until  they  were  encour 
aged  and  trapped  into  it  by  the  wicked  young 
detective. 

Alas  for  the  criminals  !  One  of  the  gang  gave 
up  to  the  sheriff,  and  by  the  finding  of  stolen 
goods  and  the  property  of  a  man  who  had  been 
murdered,  they  were  all,  save  the  one  who  had 
weakened,  sent  to  Joliet,  where  they  are  still 
receiving  their  mail. 

Doc's  remarkable  success  in  this  case  en 
couraged  the  agency  to  send  him  to  Southern 
Illinois,  where  he  was  successful  in  working  out 
a  mystery  that  had  baffled  the  best  men  they 
had.  But  he  refused  another  assignment,  to 
the  agency's  surprise,  and  returning  to  the  West 
again,  entered  the  service  of  Uncle  Sam  as  a 
railway  postal  clerk. 

Finding  a  letter  in  the  mail  marked  to  me,  he 
took  his  blue  pencil  and  wrote  on  the  back  of  the 
envelope  :  "  Hello  —  Doc  —  R.  M.  S."  ;  and  I 
knew  then  that  he  was  in  the  railway  mail  service. 


1 70  A   RAILWAY  MAIL   CLERK 

It  was  some  time  after  the  receipt  of  this  brief 
message  that  the  meeting  in  the  sleeping  car, 
already  referred  to,  occurred,  and  it  was  during 
his  many  visits  to  me  at  Denver  that  he  related 
the  detective  stories  herein  re-told. 

"  How  is  it,"  I  asked  one  day,  "  that  you  are 
assistant  superintendent  of  mail  service  here 
in  the  West,  when  you  are  under  thirty  and 
new,  comparatively,  at  the  business?" 

"  Hard  luck,"  said  Doc,  smiling  sadly,  cough 
ing  and  thumping  his  chest. 

Then  it  was  that  he  began  to  tell  me  some  of 
his  experience  in  the  postal  car,  but  he  did 
not  tell  it  all.  He  was  as  modest  as  he  was 
honest,  and  would  not  tell  to  me,  his  friend,  the 
real  tales  of  heroism  in  which  he  was  himself 
the  hero.  He  told  enough,  however,  to  interest 
me  and  cause  me  to  find  out  more  from  a 
mutual  friend,  and  to  verify  the  information 
by  some  of  the  reports  and  correspondence 
which  I  was  afterward  permitted  to  see.  I 
found  that  his  loyalty,  bravery,  and  devotion  to 
duty  had  been  warmly  commended  in  auto 
graph  letters  from  the  highest  officials  in  the 
mail  service. 


A    RAILWAY  MAIL   CLERK  171 

It  was,  indeed,  hard  luck  that  brought  him 
promotion  and  an  easy  place,  which  he  could 
not  have  gained  save  through  the  kindness  of 
higher  officials.  He  had  been  in  any  number 
of  wrecks,  for  many  of  the  western  roads  were 
new,  at  that  time,  and  railroading  was  not  safe 
as  it  is  now.  Once  there  was  a  head- end  col 
lision,  in  which  the  wreck  took  fire.  Doc  was 
dreadfully  bruised,  but  he  had  all  his  limbs,  and 
as  the  flames  crept  closer  and  closer  to  his  car 
he  busied  himself  carrying  the  mail  matter  to 
a  place  of  safety.  When  his  work  had  been 
completed,  and  the  flames  lit  up  the  canon,  they 
showed  Doc  lying  upon  his  mail  bags  appar 
ently  dead.  The  trainmen  found  him  and  soon 
restored  him  to  consciousness,  for  he  had  only 
fainted  from  overwork  and  the  pain  of  his 
many  wounds. 

It  was  nearly  a  year  before  he  was  able  to 
take  his  run  again,  and  this  time  his  routes  lay 
over  the  Santa  Fe"  system. 

One  night  when  the  train  came  roaring  down 
the  canon,  the  engine  jumped  the  track,  the 
mail  car  went  to  pieces  against  the  locomotive, 
the  coaches  piled  upon  the  pieces,  and  the 
wreck  began  to  burn. 


A    RAILWAY  MAIL   CLERK 


When  the  trainmen  and  passengers  came 
forward  to  look  for  "  the  fellows  up  ahead," 
they  saw  large  and  small  envelopes  sailing  out 
of  the  burning  debris,  and  they  knew  at  once 
that  the  mail  agent  must  be  fast  in  the  wreck. 
The  whistle  valve  had  been  forced  open,  and 
now  the  wild,  ceaseless  cry  of  the  wounded  en 
gine  drowned  all  other  sounds,  and  made  it  im 
possible  for  the  men  to  hear  the  cries  of  the 
imprisoned  postal  clerk.  All  this  he  knew, 
and  while  the  hungry  flames  were  eating  their 
way  to  where  he  lay,  he  pulled  the  register  bag 
to  him  and  began  to  shy  the  valuable  mail  out 
into  the  sagebrush. 

When  the  steam  was  exhausted,  and  the  cry 
of  the  engine  had  hushed,  there  came  no  sound 
from  the  enginemen,  for  their  voices  were 
hushed  in  death.  Above  the  sound  of  the 
cracking  flames  they  could  hear  Doc  calling  to 
them  from  his  place  below  the  wreck,  and  the 
brave  train  crew  worked  desperately  right  in  the 
very  face  of  the  fire  to  rescue  the  unfortunate. 

Gradually  the  voice  of  the  prisoner  grew 
fainter  and  fainter,  and  before  the  rescuers 
reached  him  it  hushed  entirely. 


A    RAILWAY  MAIL    CLERK  173 

At  last,  just  as  they  were  about  to  give  him 
up,  as  he  was  now  apparently  dead,  they  suc 
ceeded  in  dragging  Doc  from  the  wreck,  and 
to  the  joy  of  all  he  soon  revived.  He  was 
yet  alive,  but  had  breathed  so  much  of  the 
flames  that  his  left  lung  was  almost  ruined, 
and  he  was  never  able  to  resume  his  place  on 
the  road. 

It  was  this  unfortunate  wreck,  and  the  story 
of  his  heroism,  that  gave  him  the  important 
position  of  assistant  clerk  of  the  western  division 
of  the  United  States  mail  service  when  he  was 
not  yet  thirty  years  old.  It  was  the  burn  in  his 
breast  that  made  him  cough  and  beat  his  left 
lung,  that  pinched  his  face  and  made  his  eyes 
look  larger  than  they  were.  He  went  on 
silently,  —  almost  cheerfully,  —  doing  what  he 
could  "j  but  we  who  watched  knew  that  the 
hidden  scar  he  had  there  was  wearing  his  life 
away. 

Not  long  ago  I  returned  to  Denver,  and 
meeting  the  chief  clerk  in  the  street,  asked  him 
about  Doc.  I  had  been  wandering  over  the 
face  of  the  earth  for  nearly  two  years,  and  was 


174  A    RAILWAY  MAIL   CLERK 

"  behind  the  times  "  as  good  country  folk  say, 
and  now  as  my  friend  looked  at  me,  his  face 
took  on  a  sadder  shade  and  he  answered 
slowly :  — 

"We  buried  Doc  six  months  ago." 


THE  MYSTERIOUS   MESSAGE 


A  NY  one  could  see  by  the  air  of  industry 
that  pervaded  the  place,  that  something 
unusual  was  going  on.  Everybody  was  busy. 
Three  or  four  switch-engines  —  noisy  little  tugs 
of  the  rail  —  were  puffing  and  snorting  amid 
the  sea  of  cars  that  covered  the  freight  yards. 
The  station  agent  moved  with  a  quick,  nervous 
step  among  the  clerks,  encouraging  them  by 
his  example  to  show  signs  of  life.  Down  at 
the  round-house  the  day  foreman,  in  a  newly 
washed  suit  of  overclothes,  hurried  to  and  fro 
with  crumpled  copies  of  telegrams  from  the 
train-master.  The  boss  wiper,  with  his  gang, 
was  clearing  the  circle  in  front  of  the  house,  of 
dirty  waste  and  lumps  of  coal.  One  of  the 
men  was  sweeping  the  turn-table  with  a  new 
broom.  Now  a  yard  engine  came  by  with  a 
freshly  painted  mail  car,  and  another  followed 


178  THE    MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 

it  with  a  mile  or  so  of  empties,  reminding 
you  of  a  little  black  ant  at  one  end  of  a  fish 
worm. 

The  superintendent  had  gone  into  the  des- 
patcher's  office  to  talk  with  the  train-master 
about  a  meeting  point  for  No.  8  and  the  Presi 
dent's  special.  This  was  the  new  President, 
who,  with  the  chairman  of  the  Board  of  Direct 
ors,  was  making  his  first  tour  of  inspection. 
Every  official  of  any  importance  knew  that  he 
must  meet  the  new  chief  and  be  introduced. 
Every  official  knew  that  a  great  deal  depended 
upon  the  impression  made  upon  this  occasion. 
He  must  have  his  department  in  good  shape 
without  showing  any  unusual  effort. 

Every  one  must  be  busy  without  appearing  to 
try  to  be.  The  section  boss  saw  that  each  man 
was  at  his  shovel,  and  waved  a  "slow"  signal 
himself  to  show  the  officials  that  he  did  not 
trust  such  an  important  office  to  his  illiterate 
men.  This  slow  signal  would  indicate,  also, 
that  they  had  been  doing  something  to  the 
track.  The  road-master  had  gone  out  that 
morning  occupying  a  camp  stool  on  the  rear 
platform  of  No.  8. 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  179 

All  these  things  combined  to  show  to  the 
most  casual  observer  that  something  was  up. 
In  the  face  of  every  officer  of  the  road  at  this 
particular  point  there  was  a  look  of  anxiety,  as 
though  he  might  be  repeating  :  — 

"  He  '11  cut  me  off  or  let  me  stay, 
Just  as  he  happens  to  feel  to-day." 

The  division  superintendent,  who  had  just 
gone  into  the  despatcher's  office,  was  an  excep 
tion  to  the  rule  that  all  subordinate  officials  are 
afraid  of  a  new  management.  He  knew  his 
business  and  knew  he  could  go  with  the  retiring 
manager  to  another  road.  He  simply  went 
about  his  work  without  any  unnecessary  noise. 
The  train-master  was  of  a  different  caste.  He 
was  as  nervous  as  a  maiden  lady  in  her  first 
bicycle  suit.  Having  sent  the  "  trick "  man 
away  he  was  handling  the  trains  himself,  to 
make  sure  that  everything  was  O.  K.'d. 

"  I  sent  a  girl  over  here  yesterday,  —  an 
operator  —  "  said  the  superintendent,  after  they 
had  fixed  the  meeting  point,  "and  you  sent 
her  away.  I  have  instructed  her  to  call  here 
again  this  morning,  and  I  hope  you  will  be  good 


I  So  THE   MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 

enough  to  put  her  to  work.  Her  father  was 
the  engineer  who  was  killed  when  the  fast  mail 
went  in  the  ditch  on  the  east  end,  and  she  is 
the  only  support  her  mother  has." 

The  train-master  mumbled  something  about 
the  company  running  unnecessary  risks  for 
charity's  sake,  when  the  superintendent  cut 
him  off  with  the  information  that  there  was  no 
charity  about  it.  It  was  just  an  act  of  simple 
justice  and  decency,  and  he  hoped  the  train 
master  would  not  only  give  the  girl  something 
to  do,  but  that  he  would  take  especial  care  of 
her  and  keep  her  out  of  trouble.  The  man  at 
the  key  said  he  would  endeavor  to  find  a  place 
for  her,  but  he  positively  refused  to  be  respon 
sible  for  her.  "  Then,  sir,"  said  the  superin 
tendent,  "  I  shall  cease  to  be  responsible  for 
you."  And  there  followed  a  scene,  in  the  midst 
of  which  a  pale  girl  slipped  into  the  room  and 
sank  upon  a  seat  outside  the  railing,  unobserved 
by  either  of  the  angry  officials. 

The  superintendent,  after  pacing  the  room  a 
time  or  two,  paused  at  one  of  the  windows 
overlooking  the  yards.  The  President's  special 
had  for  the  moment  been  forgotten  by  the 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  l8l 

despatcher,  who  now  turned  to  the  key  to  send 
the  order  for  the  meeting. 

Still  smarting  from  the  effect  of  the  tilt  with 
his  chief,  his  mind  was  disturbed.  The  pale 
girl  who  had  seated  herself  without  the  railing 
was  the  applicant  for  work  whom  the  train 
master  had  turned  down  the  day  before. 

The  office  was  now  as  still  as  death,  save  for 
the  clicking  of  the  keys  and  the  slow,  measured 
ticking  of  the  great  clock  above  the  despatcher's 
desk,  —  the  clock  that  marked  time  for  all  the 
clocks  on  the  entire  system.  Presently  the 
despatcher  jerked  the  key  open  and  began  to 
call  Westcreek,  and  when  he  got  them  said  :  — 

"Train  No.  8,  Conductor  Smith,  will  take  siding 
for  special  west  eng.  88  at  Eastcreek." 

Now  he  began  calling  the  operator  at  Look 
out  siding  and  when  he  answered,  the  des 
patcher  shot  him  an  order  that  almost  burned 
the  wire  :  — 

"  Special  west  eng.  88  will  meet  train  No.  8  at 
Westcreek." 

The  pale  girl  sprang  to  her  feet.  The  des 
patcher  turned  and  saw  her,  and  when  he  real- 


1 82  THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 

ized  that  she  must  have  overheard  the  quarrel 
between  the  superintendent  and  himself,  his 
anger  rose  against  the  innocent  young  woman  ; 
and  the  other  official,  seeing  their  embarrass 
ment,  quit  the  room  by  a  side  door. 

"  Mr.  Goodlough,  you  Ve  made  a  great  mis 
take,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Have  I  ?  "  shouted  the  train-master,  "  and 
do  you  expect  a  salary  for  correcting  me?" 

"  Look  at  your  sheet.     You  Ve  —  " 

"What?"  yelled  the  man,  "do  you  mean 
to  —  " 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  man,"  pleaded  the  girl, 
"  see  what  you  Ve  done  —  look  at  the  clock 
—  there  '11  be  a  collision  in  less  than  ten  min 
utes.  You  '11  be  a  murderer  if  you  fail  to  save 
those  trains." 

"  You  're  about  as  crazy  as  they  get,"  said 
the  despatcher;  and  really  she  looked  like  a 
mad  woman,  with  her  big  eyes  burning  in  her 
pale  face.  Of  a  sudden  she  turned,  darted  out 
of  the  office,  and  ran  down  the  stair  as  an 
actress  quits  a  burning  hotel. 

"  She  'd  be  a  bird  in  a  telegraph  office," 
muttered  the  train-master,  going  back  to  his 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  183 

desk.  "  Ah,  well !  I  'm  sorry  for  her,  and  glad 
she 's  gone.  I  presume  she 's  lost  her  mind 
grieving  after  her  father ;  but  what  could  have 
put  that  fool  notion  in  her  head  ?  Can  it  be  —  " 
and  then  he  stopped  short,  staring  at  the  train 
sheet  in  front  of  him,  and  one  would  have 
thought,  to  look  at  him,  that  his  eyes  had  caught 
the  wild  light  that  was  in  the  eyes  of  his  visitor, 
and  that  the  malady  he  seemed  to  see  in  her 
mind  had  been  suddenly  transmitted  to  his. 
Now  he  glanced  quickly  from  the  sheet  to  the 
clock.  "  Twenty-seven,"  he  said,  and  he  knew 
by  heart  that  No.  8  was  due  at  Westcreek  at 
twenty-eight,  and  he  reached  a  trembling  hand 
for  the  key  and  began  calling  the  operator. 
Ten,  twenty,  thirty  seconds  went  by  and  no 
answer  came.  Forty,  fifty,  fifty-five  seconds, 
and  he  fancied  he  could  see  the  operator  stand 
ing  out  in  front  of  the  little  station  with  a  pen 
behind  his  ear  and  ink  on  his  shirt  sleeve.  For 
another  five  seconds  he  called,  and  as  the 
minute  wasted  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  blood 
was  boiling  and  his  brain  on  fire.  Then  he 
thought  of  calling  Eastcreek  to  hold  the  special. 
The  operator,  who  happened  to  be  at  the  key 


184  THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 

about  to  report,  answered  quickly,  and  the 
despatcher  asked,  "Where's  the  special?" 

"  Gone,"  said  the  wire,  and  the  train-master 
pitched  forward  fainting  among  the  ink-stands 
and  instruments. 

The  operator  at  Westcreek  stood  in  front  of 
the  little  station,  smiling  at  the  road-master  on 
No.  8,  and  the  operator  at  Eastcreek  sat  look 
ing  through  the  window  at  the  rear  end  of  the 
President's  private  car,  puckering  up  in  the 
distance  ;  and  the  three  drivers,  ignorant  of  the 
awful  mistake,  were  now  dashing,  at  the  rate  of 
a  mile  a  minute,  into  the  open  door  of  death. 

The  superintendent,  who  had  looked  into 
the  ghost-like  face  of  the  girl  as  she  passed 
him  on  the  stair,  thought  he  read  there  of  a 
wrong  done,  and  returned  at  once  to  the  des- 
patcher's  office,  determined  to  have  the  matter 
out  with  his  rebellious  train-master.  He  had 
entered  the  office  unobserved  by  the  operator 
and  stood  directly  behind  him,  and  heard  him 
ask  Eastcreek  where  the  special  was,  and  heard 
the  answer  — "  Gone."  Of  this  he  made 
nothing,  until  the  despatcher  threw  out  his  arms 


THE   MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  185 

and  fell  forward  upon  his  desk ;  then  the  super 
intendent  knew  that  something  had  gone  wrong. 
A  glance  at  the  record  of  the  despatcher's  work 
showed  it  all.  It  was  nine  twenty-nine.  The 
great  clock  told  him  that  No.  8  had  already 
passed  Westcreek,  the  special  had  passed  East- 
creek  ;  and  now  there  was  nothing  to  do  but 
wait  for  the  collision  which,  in  the  narrow, 
crooked  canon,  was  sure  to  come. 

Tenderly  he  lifted  the  limp  despatcher  from 
the  table  and  laid  him  upon  the  floor.  He 
poured  water  in  his  hand  and  bathed  the  face 
of  the  unfortunate  official,  but  it  failed  to  revive 
him,  and  then  he  called  up  the  hospital,  and 
one  of  the  surgeons  came  with  an  ambulance 
and  carried  the  sick  man  away. 

The  superintendent,  who  was  himself  an 
operator,  called  Eastcreek  and  told  him  to  let 
nothing  pass  that  point,  west- bound,  until 
further  notice  from  the  despatcher's  office. 
Then  he  sat,  for  what  seemed  to  him  a  very 
long  while,  listening  for  either  Eastcreek  or 
Westcreek  to  call  to  report  the  collision.  A  half 
hour  went  by  and  the  wire  was  still  silent. 
"  Surely,"  mused  the  superintendent,  "  they 


l86  THE  M\'STERIOUS  MESSAGE 

can't  have  all  been  killed ;  there  must  be  some 
one  left  to  tell  the  tale." 

He  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out 
over  the  coach  yards,  and  saw  the  pale  girl 
pacing  the  platform,  waiting  for  a  train  to  carry 
her  back  to  her  home.  Her  heart  was  heavy 
with  dread  of  the  collision,  and  at  thought  of  re 
turning  to  her  widowed  mother  with  the  news  of 
her  failure  to  secure  work.  The  superintend 
ent  tapped  upon  the  window  with  a  switch-key, 
and,  when  she  looked  up,  beckoned  her  to  him. 
She  shook  her  head,  for  she  did  not  wish  to 
face  the  train- master,  now  that  he  had  probably 
found  out  his  awful  mistake ;  but  when  the 
official  scowled  and  jerked  his  head  round  in 
the  direction  of  the  stairway  that  led  to  the 
despatcher's  office,  she  went  to  him. 

"Take  that  seat,"  said  the  superintendent, 
pointing  to  an  empty  chair  at  the  despatcher's 
desk.  She  did  as  he  had  told  her,  and  waited 
tremblingly  for  the  wire  to  give  her  something 
to  do. 

Mr.  Creamer,  the  first  trick  man,  who  had 
been  sent  away,  having  heard  of  the  sudden 
illness  of  the  train-master,  now  came  hurriedly 


THE   MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  187 

into  the  office.  The  superintendent  waved  his 
hand  in  the  direction  of  the  desk  where  the 
girl  sat.  "  Keep  your  seat,"  said  the  despatcher 
as  she  was  about  to  rise,  and  after  glancing  over 
the  work,  turned  a  blanched  face  to  the  super 
intendent.  "Where's  Tom?"  he  asked  after 
a  pause. 

"  Gone  to  the  hospital,  and  I  'm  afraid  he  's 
gone  crazy  as  well." 

Then  there  was  a  moment  of  silence,  in 
which  the  two  men  gazed  helplessly  into  each 
other's  faces,  and  listened  constantly  for  a  call 
from  Eastcreek  or  Westcreek.  The  keys  clicked 
merrily,  and  the  girl,  whose  cheeks  were  now 
burning  red,  gathered  in  the  reports  from  the 
various  stations  of  the  coming  and  going  of 
many  trains. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  superintendent,  and 
the  two  men  took  seats  near  the  operator, 
while  the  great  clock,  ticking  off  the  seconds, 
marched  up  through  the  morning.  Now  they 
began  to  discuss  softly  the  probable  result  of 
the  collision.  The  special,  having  a  down-hill 
pull,  would  be  running  rapidly  as  specials 
usually  do.  She  would  be  making  forty  posts, 


1 88  THE  AH'STERIOUS  MESSAGE 

and  when  her  light  locomotive  came  up  against 
the  heavy  mogul  which  was  helping  No.  8,  and 
making  twenty,  it  would  be  as  though  she  had 
gone  against  the  side  of  the  canon  at  sixty 
miles  an  hour.  It  was  awful  even  to  think  of 
it.  Now  there  came  a  message  from  the  gen 
eral  manager,  urging  the  superintendent  to  get 
the  new  President  over  the  road  as  rapidly  as 
possible,  as  he  was  anxious  to  spend  Christmas 
with  his  family  at  Boston.  The  superintendent 
read  the  message,  and  smiling  sadly,  as  men 
sometimes  do  to  keep  from  crying,  shook  his 
head  slowly  and  laid  the  paper  down. 

"  Poor  devil !  "  he  said,  after  a  pause,  — 
"  just  got  a  good  job  and  now  he  gets  killed," 
and  then  the  operator  at  Eastcreek  touched 
the  key  and  said :  "  No.  8  twenty  minutes 
late ;  "  and  fresh  color  came  to  the  white  faces 
in  the  despatched  office. 

When  the  operator  at  Westcreek,  with  the 
pen  behind  his  ear  and  ink  on  his  shirt  sleeve, 
quitted  the  platform  and  re-entered  the  office, 
he  heard  a  hurry-up  call  for  him  which  came  in 
a  quick,  nervous  way  and  told  him  that  he  was 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  189 

wanted.  He  answered  at  once  and  got  this 
in  return  :  "  Hold  No.  8, — lap  order."  The 
last  two  words  assured  him  that  compliance 
with  this  order  was  necessary  to  prevent  a 
collision.  "  No.  8  is  gone,"  he  replied.  "  Hold 
her — T.  J.  G."  came  back  to  him  in  an  in 
stant.  The  man  is  crazy,  thought  the  operator, 
but  he  would  try.  As  he  rushed  from  the 
office  a  light  engine  was  just  pulling  out  of  the 
siding  to  take  water.  This  locomotive  belonged 
to  the  crew  of  a  work  train,  but  the  train  had 
been  left  in  the  siding.  The  operator  sprang 
into  the  cab,  and  shouted  to  the  engineer  to 
pull  out  and  catch  No.  8 ;  "  lap  order,"  he 
added,  and  that  was  enough.  The  driver,  with 
out  waiting  for  his  fireman  who  was  some  yards 
behind,  tugging  at  a  stiff  switch  in  an  effort  to 
close  it,  pulled  the  throttle  open  and  bounded 
away  up  the  steep  grade  behind  the  passenger 
train.  The  operator,  who  was  leaning  in  the 
window,  heard  the  driver  yell,  and  glancing 
round  got  a  signal  to  get  into  the  tank  and 
shovel  coal  into  the  furnace.  It  made  little 
difference  under  the  circumstances  where  he 
put  the  fuel,  so  long  as  he  got  it  inside  the 


190  THE   MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 

fire-box,  for  the  rolling,  shaking  machine  levelled 
it  off,  and  the  rapid  exhaust  burned  it  out  or 
lifted  it  in  red  hot  balls  through  the  quivering 
stack.  Now  they  could  see  the  rear  end  of 
No.  8  just  whipping  a  corner.  The  road-mas 
ter  saw  the  approaching  engine  and,  as  she 
came  nearer,  guessed  that  she  was  running  wild 
—  riderless  —  or  that  her  rider  had  lost  control 
of  her.  It  might  be  that  the  engineer  did  not 
see  them.  Theirs  was  a  heavy  train  —  they 
were  losing  time.  He  remembered  that  they 
had  been  two  minutes  late  at  Westcreek.  He 
called  the  rear  flagman,  who  was  "  railroading  " 
with  a  dead-head  conductor  in  the  smoking- 
room  of  the  sleeper.  The  flagman  took  in  the 
situation  at  a  glance.  His  business  was  to  flag, 
regardless  of  circumstances  and  vague  possi 
bilities,  and  before  the  road-master  could  stay 
him,  the  fearless  flagman  swung  himself  round 
and  dropped  from  the  train.  By  the  time  he 
had  regained  his  feet  and  found  his  flag,  the 
light  engine,  uttering  a  wild  shriek,  dashed  by 
him.  The  engineer,  to  avoid  running  by  a 
red  flag,  turned  his  face  to  the  fireman's  side 
and  refused  to  see  the  danger  signal.  Now  he 


THE   MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  191 

was  near  enough  to  whistle  the  other  engines 
"down,"  and  the  enginemen  pulling  the  pas 
senger  train  shut  off,  and  when  the  driver  of  the 
light  engine  saw  a  chimney  of  white  steam  shoot 
up  from  each  of  the  forward  locomotives,  he 
knew  they  had  quit,  and  slowed  his  own 
machine  accordingly.  When  they  had  come  up 
to  the  train,  the  operator  ran  to  the  rear  of 
No.  8,  shouted,  "  lap  order,  back  up,"  and 
hurried  over  to  the  head  end.  The  road-mas 
ter  reached  for  the  rope  and  signalled  the  engi 
neers  to  back  up,  but  they  wanted  to  know 
why,  and  to  assure  themselves  that  the  light 
engine  was  out  of  the  way.  When  the  operator 
boarded  the  mogul,  the  driver  of  that  monster 
machine  opened  the  whistle  and  gave  three 
wild  shrieks  that  told  the  regular  man  whose 
engine  was  next  the  train  that  they  ought  to 
back  up.  As  the  train  began  to  move  back  the 
second  man  saw  the  driver  of  the  helper  glan 
cing  anxiously  up  the  track,  and  understood  by 
the  look  upon  his  face  that  something  was 
coming.  The  conductor,  who  had  been  in  the 
middle  of  the  train,  naturally  felt  that  he  was 
being  ignored,  and  not  caring  to  back  up  with- 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 


out  knowing  why,  began  to  apply  the  automatic 
air-brakes.  The  drivers  felt  it  instantly,  and  the 
danger  of  it,  and  opened  their  throttles  and 
whistles  and  began  to  jam  the  train  back  re 
gardless  of  brakes,  and  the  conductor,  taking 
something  of  the  alarm  that  was  in  the  cry  of 
the  locomotives,  released  the  air. 

The  driver  of  the  light  engine  had  reversed 
at  once  upon  dropping  the  operator,  picked  up 
the  flagman,  and  was  now  backing  away  for 
Westcreek  at  a  frightful  pace.  His  fireman, 
still  at  the  switch,  let  him  in  on  the  siding  ; 
No.  8  dropped  in  after  him,  and  just  as  the 
operator  and  conductor  had  forced  the  stub 
born  rails  back  to  the  main  line,  the  President's 
train  crashed  over  the  switch. 

Not  a  soul  on  board  the  special  knew  how 
near  they  had  been  to  death.  Their  orders 
read  to  meet  No.  8  at  Westcreek,  and  there 
she  was,  in  to  clear,  just  as  the  daring  driver 
of  the  special  engine  had  expected  to  find  her. 

The  conductor  of  No.  8,  with  his  two  engi 
neers,  the  road-master  and  operator,  wasted  five 
minutes  reading,  checking,  comparing,  and  ex 
amining  the  orders  they  had  received.  They 


THE   MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  193 

were  all  signed  "  T.  J.  G."  by  the  train-master 
himself.  The  thing  was  plain :  he  had  given 
a  lap  order  but  had  discovered  his  mistake  in 
time,  by  the  good  fortune  that  had  left  the 
light  engine  at  Westcreek,  to  prevent  an  awful 
disaster.  He  was  a  good  fellow  and  they  were 
all  glad  he  had  saved  himself,  although  the 
incident  might  work  to  his  embarrassment  when 
he  came  up  for  promotion.  Incidentally,  they 
were  glad  that  they  were  alive. 

To  appreciate  the  mysterious  part  of  the 
tale,  the  reader  should  understand  the  value  of 
time  —  not  of  hours  and  minutes,  but  of 
seconds  —  in  handling  trains  on  a  single  track 
railroad.  It  will  be  remembered  that  Good- 
lough  discovered  his  mistake  at  9-27.  No.  8 
was  due  to  pass  Westcreek  at  9-28  and  at  9-29 
the  superintendent  had  seen  the  train- master 
collapse.  It  will  be  remembered,  also,  that 
No.  8  was  two  minutes  late,  but  the  man  who 
had  sent  the  lap  order  did  not  know  it,  and  his 
nerve  would  not  last  until  he  could  find  it  out. 
The  order  to  hold  No.  8  —  the  order  which 
prevented  the  collision  and  doubtless  saved 


194  THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 

many  lives  —  was  sent  at  9-31.  It  was  signed 
with  the  initials  of  the  train-master,  but  at  a 
time  when  that  gentleman  was  dead  to  the 
world,  and  had  been  so  for  two  whole  minutes. 
No  man  was  in  a  better  position  to  know 
these  facts  than  the  superintendent,  who  was  the 
only  man  in  the  despatcher's  office  at  the  mo 
ment  when  the  "  mysterious  message  "  flashed 
over  the  wire,  and  whose  business  it  was  to 
investigate  the  whole  matter.  As  the  investi 
gation  proceeded,  the  superintendent  became 
intensely  interested  in  the  mystery.  For  a 
while  he  kept  the  matter  to  himself,  but  these 
things  will  out,  and  in  less  than  a  month's  time 
the  "  mysterious  message  "  became  the  leading 
topic  in  shops,  cabs,  way-cars,  and  boarding- 
houses.  To  say  that  the  clocks  were  at  vari 
ance  would  not  satisfy  a  railroad  man,  for  they 
had  taken  time  at  9  A.  M.,  only  a  half  hour  be 
fore  the  message  went  out.  The  operator  at 
Westcreek  declared  that  at  the  end  of  the 
twenty- four  hours  following  the  receipt  of  the 
"  mysterious  message,"  his  clock  had  not  va 
ried  one  second.  Not  a  few  of  the  employees 
refused  to  become  excited  or  even  interested 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  195 

in  the  matter.  Such  things  were  constantly 
occurring,  they  argued.  Women  had  wept  fur 
their  husbands  hours  before  receiving  news  of 
their  death.  A  mother,  a  thousand  miles  away, 
had  seen  her  son  killed  in  a  wreck  in  the  Black 
Canon,  giving  not  only  the  day  and  hour,  but 
the  exact  moment  in  which  it  occurred,  de 
scribing  accurately  his  appearance  after  death. 
A  clerk  in  the  treasurer's  office  said  it  was 
simple.  The  train-master  had  so  longed  to 
send  this  very  message,  —  doubtless,  word  for 
word,  —  but  could  not  get  the  operator,  that 
the  force  of  his  mind  had,  in  some  way  (which 
was  not  quite  clear,  even  to  the  clerk) ,  trans 
mitted  the  message  to  the  wire,  so  that  when 
the  operator  at  Westcreek  touched  the  key  it 
came  to  him,  —  not  over  the  wire,  perhaps, 
but  direct  from  the  brain  of  the  sender  to  that 
of  the  receiver.  It  was  the  great  effort,  he  ar 
gued,  of  transmitting  his  thought  to  the  operator 
which  caused  the  train-master  to  collapse,  and 
not  his  alarm  at  the  impending  collision. 

In  time,  the  story  of  the  "mysterious  mes 
sage  "  came  to  the  ears  of  the  President  at 
Boston,  and  as  his  life  had  been  saved  by  the 


196  THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 

sending  of  this  wire,  which  amounted  to  almost 
a  miracle,  he  set  himself  at  once  to  the  task  of 
solving  the  mystery.  He  belonged  to  a  certain 
society  whose  members  delight  to  delve  in 
things  occult,  and  they  were  not  long  in  ac 
counting  for  all  that  had  occurred.  It  fell  out 
later  that  the  treasurer's  clerk  was  also  a  mem 
ber  of  the  Boston  society  to  which  the  President 
belonged. 

The  day's  work  in  a  despatcher's  office  is 
divided  into  three  tricks.  The  first  trick  man 
works  from  8  A.  M.  until  4  P.  M.,  the  second 
from  that  hour  to  the  end  of  the  day,  and  the 
third  man  works  the  "death  trick," --in  which 
nearly  all  the  ugly  wrecks  occur,  —  from  mid 
night  till  morning. 

"You  may  go  now,"  said  Mr.  Creamer  to 
the  girl,  when  the  second  man  came  in  and 
took  his  trick  at  4  o'clock. 

"  Shall  I  —  come  —  back  in  the  morning?  " 
asked  the  girl  with  some  embarrassment. 

"Yes,"  was  the  answer,  after  a  moment's 
thought. 

By  a  sort  of  unwritten  rule,  the  first  trick 


THE   MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  197 

man  had  stepped  to  the  post  of  train-master 
when  that  industrious,  but  over  zealous,  officer 
had  fallen ;  but,  having  no  official  notice  of  his 
appointment  by  the  superintendent,  he  felt  that 
he  had  no  right  to  promote  the  men  under  him. 
The  best  he  could  do  was  to  keep  his  trick, 
and  look  after  the  train- master's  work  beside. 
He  had,  of  course,  —  being  a  despatcher,  —  the 
right  to  sign  his  own  initials  to  all  orders,  pre 
fixing  the  word  "  Acting "  when  signing  as 
train-master.  So  it  came  about  that  the  fa 
miliar  "  T.  J.  G.,"  the  initials  of  the  unfortu 
nate  Thomas  Jefferson  Goodlough,  now  derailed, 
disgraced,  and  possibly  deranged,  were  seen  no 
more  at  the  end  of  telegrams. 

"Whose  initials  shall  I  put  to  this  order?" 
asked  the  girl,  sending  her  first  message  on  the 
morning  of  the  second  day. 

"Your  own,"  said  Mr.  Creamer,  and  the 
receiving  operator  at  Livingston  wondered  who 
the  new  despatcher  could  be.  Every  night, 
after  midnight,  the  operators  along  the  line 
would  ground  wire,  cutting  off  the  officials,  and 
discuss  the  new  despatcher.  Not  a  few  of  them 
felt  that  they  were  entitled  to  promotion,  and 


198  THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 

were  in  favor  of  sending  a  grievance  committee 
in  at  once.  "  Who  is  the  new  guy?"  asked 
the  operator  at  Lookout  one  afternoon,  when  he 
supposed  the  second  trick  man  was  at  the  other 
end  of  the  line. 

"Go  ahead,  'guy'/'  said  Miss  Morgan,  for 
she  had  not  yet  been  relieved. 

"Working  the  first  trick?"  said  the  operator, 
finishing  his  query  and  making  it  plain.  There 
was  a  dash  of  Irish  in  Minnie  Morgan,  and  she 
answered  without  hesitation  :  "  Miles  Mulcahy." 

"  Solid  with  the  new  push?  " 

"  Sure,"  was  the  girl's  answer,  and  then  she 
shut  him  off. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  until  the  trainmen 
carried  the  news  out  over  the  road  that  Miles 
Mulcahy  was  a  woman,  but  not  until  the  new 
despatcher  had  gained  something  of  a  reputa 
tion  as  an  expert  handler  of  trains.  Many  an 
operator  who  had  indorsed  the  new  despatcher 
upon  divers  occasions  was  now  sorry  he  had 
done  so. 

A  woman  operator  was  bad  enough,  but  a 
woman  despatcher  was  sure,  they  argued,  to 
make  trouble.  A  girl  at  twenty  giving  orders 


THE   MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  199 

to  gray-haired  conductors  and  storm- faced 
engineers  was  a  thing  that  ought  not  to  be. 
Some  of  the  swift  senders  tried  to  rush  her,  but 
it;  didn't  go.  The  great  clock  continued  to 
measure  off  the  days,  trains  arrived  and  de 
parted  on  time,  the  "  mysterious  message " 
was  still  a  mystery,  and  the  girl  stayed  at  her 
post.  The  superintendent  was  quietly  proud 
of  his  prote'ge'e  and  Mr.  Creamer  was  enthusias 
tic.  She  knew  the  joad,  he  had  declared  to 
his  chief,  as  the  red  man  knows  the  forest,  and 
the  time  card  as  Father  Maloney  knew  the 
catechism.  "  She  's  just  a  bird,  that 's  all," 
he  observed  to  the  smiling  superintendent; 
"  a  reg'ler  crockerjack,  and. you  can't  tie  her." 

The  January  sun,  swinging  far  and  low  in  the 
south,  sent  a  stingy  ray  aslant  the  window  and 
touched  the  covers  on  the  sick  man's  couch. 
He  rubbed  his  eyes,  looked  about,  and  whis 
pered  :  "Where  am  I?  "  but  he  was  not  acting. 
The  bare  white  walls,  the  iron  bedstead,  the 
little  table,  and  the  one  wooden  chair  told  him 
that  he  was  in  the  hospital.  A  vase  of  fresh 
cut  roses  stood  upon  the  table,  and  he  knew 


200  THE   m'STERIOUS  MESSAGE 

that  he  had  a  friend  somewhere.  He  remem 
bered  afterwards  that  the  smell  of  roses  was 
the  first  thing  that  was  quite  clear  to  him. 

"  Have  I  been  ill?  "  he  asked  of  the  attend 
ant  who  now  entered  the  room,  for,  being  an 
official  and  able  to  pay  extra,  Goodlough  had 
not  been  placed  in  the  open  ward.  His 
malady,  too,  had  been  of  a  nature  that  required 
close  attention.  At  times  he  had  been  a  rav 
ing  maniac,  screaming  and  calling  for  help  to 
rescue  the  President  from  a  burning  car. 

"Yes,"  said  the  nurse,  coming  cautiously  to 
the  sick  bed,  "  you  have  been  very  ill.  You  're 
all  right  now,  but  you  must  not  talk." 

In  a  little  while  the  sick  man  fell  asleep 
again,  for  the  fever  had  left  him  very  weak. 

When  he  awoke  on  the  following  morning 
his  mind  was  much  stronger.  His  eyes  wan 
dered  directly  to  the  little  table,  and  there  was 
the  vase  with  fresh  flowers,  and  tears  came  to 
the  eyes  of  the  sufferer.  He  wondered,  as  the 
days  went  by,  that  none  of  his  old  friends  came 
to  see  him.  Vaguely  he  began  to  recall  the 
past  and  all  that  had  happened.  He  wondered 
how  many  were  killed,  but  he  dared  not  ask. 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  2OI 

The  few  people  that  he  saw  seemed  so  cheer 
ful,  and  the  chief  surgeon  was  always  so  genial, 
that  he  began  to  hope  that  things  had  turned 
out  better  than  he  expected.  And  there  were 
the  flowers,  too ;  somebody  sent  them,  and 
somebody  cared  for  him  still.  At  the  end  of 
another  week  the  superintendent  came  in  to 
see  him,  and  he,  too,  was  as  cheerful  and 
happy  as  a  man  could  well  be.  "  It  is  good  of 
you  to  come  and  see  me,"  said  the  sick  man. 
"  I  don't  deserve  it." 

"You  do  deserve  it,"  was  the  reply,  "and  I 
have  been  here  many  times,  but  the  doctor 
thought  you  would  be  better  off  alone.  Now 
that  you  are  so  strong,  though,  he  says  we  can 
all  come  and  see  you  as  often  as  we  will." 

"  Will  Creamer  come  ?  I  always  liked  Dan, 
and  his  absence  has  hurt  me,  but  he  has 
not  forgotten  our  past  friendship,"  and  the 
speaker's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  they  rested 
on  the  vase. 

"  He  's  here  now,"  said  the  superintendent, 
touched  deeply  by  the  tears  and  tenderness  of 
the  sick  man.  "  Every  morning  for  nearly  a 
month  he  has  called  here  to  ask  after  you.  I 


202  THE   MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 

shall  send  him  to  you  at  once,  and  now  you 
must  brace  up — good-by." 

The  meeting  between  Creamer  and  his  sick 
friend  was  too  much  for  the  patient,  and  the 
chief  surgeon,  who  had  come  in  with  the 
visitor,  was  obliged  to  send  him  away  almost 
immediately. 

It  was  nearly  a  week  before  any  more  visi 
tors  were  admitted  to  the  sick  room.  Only 
the  flowers  came  every  morning.  They  were 
not  many  but  always  fresh. 

"  I  'm  strong  enough  to  know  now,  Dan," 
said  the  patient  when  Creamer  had  been  left 
alone  with  him,  "  and  I  want  you  to  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

"About  what,  Tom?" 

"  About  the  collision  —  how  many  were 
killed?" 

Dan  assured  him  that  there  had  been  no 
collision  on  the  road  for  over  a  year.  "And 
you,"  he  explained,  "have  been  here  just 
a  month  to-day  —  this  is  the  twentieth  of 
January." 

"  Don't  lie  to  me,  Dan,  —  anybody  could  do 
that ;  but  from  you  I  ask  the  truth,  and  I  think 


THE   MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  2  03 

I  have  a  right  to  expect  it.  I  sent  a  lap  order 
the  day  I  fell  ill.  I  became  confused  over  the 
repetition  of  No.  8  and  engine  88,  Eastcreek 
and  Westcreek,  and  I  gave  a  lap  order.  A  girl 
in  the  office  tried  to  save  me,  but  I  laughed  at 
her.  I  thought  her  crazy,  and  when  at  last  I 
noticed  my  mistake  I  tried  to  call  Westcreek  to 
hold  8,  but  could  not  get  him.  I  called  and 
called,  up  to  the  last  second,  but  he  did  not 
answer  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  must  go 
mad.  Suddenly  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  might 
get  Eastcreek,  and  hold  the  special,  but  the 
answer  came  quick  and  awful :  '  Gone,'  and 
then  I  knew  no  more  until  I  smelled  the  smell 
of  those  fresh  roses  you  sent  me,  and  came  to 
life  again." 

"  Now,  I  '11  tell  you  the  truth,  Tom,  the 
whole  truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  as  the 
judge  would  say,"  began  his  visitor.  "  You 
did  give  a  lap  order,  but  you  saved  yourself. 
Westcreek  did  answer  and  got  your  order  to 
hold  No.  8,  and  he  held  her,  and  there  was  no 
collision." 

"  Dan,  I  never  sent  that  message,  —  I  wanted 
to.  God  knows  I  would  gladly  have  given  my 


204  THE   MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 

life  to  have  saved  those  poor  fellows  on  the 
engines ;  and  the  new  President  ?  Was  he 
killed  ?  Ah  !  Dan,  why  don't  you  tell  me  the 
truth?"  and  the  miserable  man  held  out  his 
hand  beseechingly. 

"  I  have  told  the  whole  truth,"  said  Creamer ; 
"  there  was  no  collision."  But  Goodlough 
shook  his  head,  his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and 
he  turned  his  pale  pinched  face  to  the  wall. 

The  superintendent,  whose  "  long  suit,"  as 
the  road-master  expressed  it,  was  "  hoss  sense," 
had  maintained  all  along  that  the  transmission 
of  the  "  mysterious  message  "  was  still  a  mys 
tery.  Those  occult  scientists  might  sit  up 
nights  and  work  out  answers  satisfactory  to 
themselves,  declared  the  superintendent,  but 
they  would  never  go  at  his  end  of  the  line.  He 
was  not  a  highly  educated  man,  save  in  what 
pertained  to  the  handling  of  men  and  machines, 
trains  and  traffic.  He  strove  to  do  the  best  he 
could  for  the  company  without  injuring  the 
community  in  which  he  lived.  He  was  popular, 
and  so  the  new  manager  kept  him.  "  There 
must  be  another  solution  of  this  *  mysterious 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  2 05 

message,'  "  he  declared  to  the  President,  "  and 
I  shall  find  it  before  the  end  of  the  year." 

The  statement  of  Goodlough  to  the  effect 
that  he  had  not  sent  the  message  which  saved 
the  two  trains,  made  no  change  in  the  mind  of 
the  superintendent,  to  whom  it  was  related  by 
Mr.  Creamer.  At  the  expiration  of  forty  days 
the  medical  staff  declared  Goodlough  sound  in 
body  and  mind,  and  the  old  train-master  called 
upon  the  superintendent  for  his  decision.  He 
had  begun  as  a  messenger-boy  in  the  train 
master's  office  on  an  eastern  road,  when  he 
could  barely  reach  the  top  of  the  high  desk. 
He  had  been  with  this  company  so  long  that  he 
felt  a  proprietary  interest  in  the  road.  He 
would  be  glad  to  return  to  his  old  post,  but  men 
were  usually  dismissed  for  giving  a  lap  order. 

"  It  will  not  be  necessary  for  us  to  review 
this  matter,"  began  the  superintendent,  when 
Goodlough  had  seated  himself  in  the  private 
office  of  his  old  chief.  "  Under  ordinary  cir 
cumstances  I  should  feel  it  my  duty  to  discharge 
you,  but  in  consideration  of  your  excellent 
record  and  other  extenuating  circumstances,  the 
confusing  nature  of  the  numbers  of  the  loco- 


206  THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 

motives  and  trains,  and  the  names  of  stations,  I 
have  concluded  that  I  shall  serve  the  company 
best  by  allowing  you  to  return  to  your  former 
place.  In  doing  this  I  wish  you  to  understand 
that  the  matter  of  personal  friendship,  which 
has  grown  strong  in  the  years  that  we  have 
spent  together,  makes  no  difference  in  my 
decision.  The  sixty  days,  which  I  must  now 
give  you,  is  meant  more  as  punishment  for  your 
refusal  to  listen  to  a  well-meant  warning  which 
might  have  saved  you,  than  for  your  careless 
ness  in  giving  a  wrong  order.  It  is  more  your 
misfortune  than  your  fault,  however,  that  you 
have  lost  these  forty  days,  therefore  your  suspen 
sion  will  date  from  the  twentieth  of  December." 
Goodlough  thanked  the  superintendent  warmly 
for  his  consideration,  and  went  out  to  begin  the 
hard  task  of  waiting  twenty  days ;  for  to  him, 
every  day  spent  away  from  his  work  was  wasted. 

The  old  train-master  found  it  impossible  to 
keep  away  from  the  office,  and,  finding  a  warm 
welcome  from  Creamer,  spent  the  greater  part 
of  his  twenty  days  where  he  could  hear  the 
rattle  of  the  instruments,  and  the  slow,  measured 


THE    MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  2OJ 

ticking  of  the  great  clock.  He  was  interested 
in,  and  then  amazed  at,  the  work  of  the  young 
woman  who  was  now  handling  the  trains  on  the 
first  trick.  At  first  he  felt  half  angry  with  her 
for  being  able  to  do  what  he  had  once  made  a 
mess  of,  but  she  was  so  sweetly  modest,  and  so 
utterly  unconscious  of  herself  and  so  faithful  to 
her  work,  that  he  soon  found  himself  wishing 
she  were  a  man.  He  said  so  to  Creamer,  once, 
and  she  heard  him.  Long  before  his  time  was 
up  he  had  begun  to  wonder  where  he  could  put 
her,  for  he  had  no  thought  of  letting  her  go. 
But  she  was  a  lucky  soul,  and  it  seemed  that  the 
same  power  that  sent  the  ravens  to  Elijah 
looked  after  her.  Just  about  the  time  Good- 
lough  was  to  resume  his  office  a  connecting 
road  wanted  a  train-master,  and  the  place  was 
offered  to  Mr.  Creamer.  He  accepted  it,  of 
course.  Mr.  Goodlough  was  ordered  to  report 
for  duty,  and  having  no  one  he  considered  com 
petent  at  hand,  allowed  Miss  Morgan  to  remain 
where  he  had  found  her.  It  was  understood  by 
all  that  this  arrangement  was  only  temporary, 
but  Goodlough  soon  learned  that  he  would  lose 
an  able  assistant  when  he  parted  with  Miss 


208  THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 

Morgan,  and  so  was  a  good  while  in  making  a 
change  which  all  precedent  made  necessary. 
The  second  trick  man  was  entitled  to  the  first, 
the  third  man  was  in  line  for  the  second,  and 
if  he  kept  Miss  Morgan  she  must  do  the 
"death  trick." 

The  two  men  were  notified  by  letter  of  their 
promotion,  and  then  the  train-master  braced 
himself  to  tell  the  young  lady  that  she  would 
be  transferred  to  the  company's  telegraph  office, 
unless  she  chose  to  take  the  third  trick,  which 
he  felt  ashamed  to  ask  her  to  do.  It  was  only 
right  and  fair,  she  said,  and  she  would  be  glad 
to  take  the  third  trick.  All  she  wanted  was  an 
equal  show  with  the  men  and  no  favors.  If  he 
could  overlook  her  sex,  and  forgive  her  having 
been  born  a  woman,  she  would  be  content  to 
take  whatever  he  had  to  offer  her.  "  Ye  gods," 
said  the  train-master  to  himself,  "she  makes 
me  ashamed.  She  's  as  brave  as  she  is  gentle, 
and  as  brilliant  as  she  is  beautiful."  He  won 
dered,  now,  knowing  her,  that  he  had  failed  to 
see  that  she  was  a  very  superior  woman  when 
he  sent  her  away  without  the  promise,  even,  of 
employment. 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  2OQ 

When  the  two  despatchers  who  had  received 
notice  of  promotion  came  into  the  train-mas 
ter's  office,  they  did  not  appear  over  joyous. 
The  man  who  had  thus  honored  them  saw  that 
something  was  wrong,  and  inquired  the  cause 
of  it. 

"  It 's  just  this  way,"  said  Killeen,  the  second 
trick  man.  "  If  you  are  setting  Miss  Morgan 
back  because  she  is  incompetent  to  handle  the 
heavy  business  on  the  first  trick,  we  have 
nothing  to  say;  but  if  the  change  is  being 
made  because  she  is  a  woman,  or  as  a  matter 
of  justice  to  Mr.  Ricker  and  myself,  we  most 
respectfully  decline  a  promotion  that  will  work 
a  hardship  to  this  most  deserving  girl." 

"The  change  was  ordered  as  a  matter  of 
justice  to  you,  and  in  keeping  with  the  policy 
of  the  management.  However,  if  you  gentle 
men  are  disposed  to  do  the  gallant,  the  young 
lady  can  remain  where  she  is.  She  is  thor 
oughly  competent  to  manage  the  business,  and 
I  can  see  no  reason  why  she  should  not  have 
an  even  break  with  the  rest  of  us." 

So  the  split  trick  man  who  had  done  the 
talking,  and  the  "  death  trick  "  man  who  had 


210  THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 

nodded  assent,  went  away  feeling  that  they 
had  done  the  proper  thing,  and  the  train- master 
congratulated  himself  upon  the  result. 

Minnie  Morgan  was  a  woman  to  win  a  man's 
heart  if  he  had  such  a  thing  to  lose,  and  so,  as 
the  spring  deepened,  Goodlough,  who  had  been 
too  busy  all  his  life  to  go  out  into  the  world 
and  win  a  heart,  discovered,  when  it  was  too 
late,  that  he  was  slowly  but  surely  losing  his 
own.  Up  to  now  he  had  been  too  much  occu 
pied  with  his  work  to  think  of  love,  but,  as  is 
usual  with  such  men,  when  the  fever  came  it 
was  high  and  unremitting.  Miss  Morgan,  on 
her  side,  had  pitied  Goodlough  at  first,  and 
then,  when  he  recovered  and  came  back  to 
work,  she  had  learned  to  respect  and  soon  to 
admire  him.  It  might  have  ended  there, 
so  far  as  she  was  concerned,  if  he  had  not 
fallen  in  love  with  her  and  showed  it  a  dozen 
times  a  day,  or  every  time  he  attempted  to  hide 
it ;  and  soon  they  both  loved,  and  each  resolved 
to  keep  the  secret  from  the  other,  but  while 
Cupid  held  his  hands  over  their  eyes  the  world 
looked  on  and  laughed. 


THE   MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  21  T 

Soon  the  summer  came  with  moonlight  ex 
cursions  to  the  mountains  and  boat  rides  on 
the  star-lit  lakes.  They  parted  late  at  night 
only  to  meet  again  in  the  morning.  The  days, 
that  were  all  too  short,  flashed  by  as  mile-posts 
pass  the  window  of  an  express  train.  In  time 
the  summer  went  out  of  the  skies,  the  frost 
came  and  killed  the  flowers,  but  the  summer 
stayed  in  their  hearts  and  kept  them  glad. 

It  was  winter  without.  The  snow  lay  in 
deep  drifts  upon  the  pilots  of  locomotives  that 
came  down  from  the  hills,  and  hid  the  tops  of 
incoming  freight  trains.  Miss  Morgan  stood  at 
the  window  overlooking  the  yards.  An  old 
storm-stained  work  engine  stood  in  front  of  the 
station,  toil-worn  and  weary,  —  leaking  like  a 
sieve,  —  and  the  water,  dripping  through  her 
fire-box,  had  frozen  and  hung  icicles  upon 
her  very  grates.  Her  driver,  looking  as  rusty 
as  his  engine,  was  coming  up  the  stair  to  tell 
the  despatcher  that  he  was  not  yet  in  and 
would  not  be  for  ten  minutes,  and  the  des 
patcher  erased  the  arrival  and  put  him  in  ten 
minutes  later,  so  that  the  engineer  might  not 


212  THE   MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 

get  ten  days  for  fast  running.  He  was  a  hero, 
this  man,  begrimed  as  he  was  with  soot  and 
grease,  for  this  was  the  engine,  and  he  the 
engineer  who  had  outrun  the  Atlantic  express 
a  year  ago  and  saved  that  train,  as  well  as  the 
President's  special. 

The  train- master  came  in  with  a  sad  face  and 
a  heavy  heart.  He  remembered  that  it  was 
just  a  year  ago  to-day  that  he  had  turned  a 
pale-faced  young  woman  away,  not  because 
there  was  no  room  for  her,  but  (he  blushed  to 
admit  it)  because  she  was  a  woman.  And 
now  that  same  woman  was  doing  a  man's  work. 
More,  she  could  enslave  him  with  a  glance  or 
bind  him  with  a  single  strand  of  her  silken  hair. 
He  knew  this  and  knew  that  she  knew  it,  and 
resolved  not  to  let  another  day  dawn  before  he 
had  told  her  everything. 

Miss  Morgan  was  sad,  too,  for  she  had  lost 
a  secret,  —  not  of  her  love,  for  that  was  no 
secret ;  but  she  had  just  revealed  to  the  super 
intendent  the  true  story  of  the  "  mysterious 
message."  For  a  long  time  he  had  guessed 
that  she  knew  something  about  it,  but  had  re 
frained  from  calling  her  up  for  fear  of  forcing 


THE   MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  213 

her  to  utter  a  falsehood.  He  had  himself 
•nearly  told  an  untruth,  at  the  very  beginning  of 
the  examination,  when  he  declared  that  he  had 
every  reason  to  believe  that  she  held  the  secret. 
At  first  she  was  inclined  to  be  obstinate,  but 
when  he  appealed  to  her  sense  of  honor  and 
urged  her  to  clear  up  a  mystery,  which  was 
really  no  mystery,  according  to  his  belief,  and 
thus  prevent  the  employees  from  growing  super 
stitious  and  relying  too  much  upon  an  unseen 
power  to  take  care  of  trains,  she  saw  the  wis 
dom  and  justice  of  his  argument  and  gave  way. 
The  superintendent  was  happy.  He  had 
promised  to  have  an  answer  for  the  President  by 
the  end  of  the  year,  and  this  was  the  last  week 
but  one.  Miss  Morgan's  story  was  all  the  more 
timely  because  the  President  would  arrive  on 
the  morrow,  and  the  superintendent  was  anxious 
to  convince  him  that  the  average  occult  expert, 
who  makes  a  specialty  of  "  seeing  things  nights," 
knew  about  as  much  of  the  future,  or  of  things 
unknown,  as  the  codfish  out  in  the  Atlantic. 

There  was  a  sound  of  singing  bells,  and  the 
low  squeak  of  iron  sleigh  shoes  upon  the  white 


214  THE   MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 

carpet  of  the  earth,  for  Goodlough,  after  hours, 
was  tightening  the  reins  over  a  handsome  team. 
Miss  Morgan  was  by  his  side,  cuddling  close  in 
her  furs  to  avoid  the  flying  snow  and  the  cold 
twilight.  When  the  horses  had  grown  quiet, 
so  as  not  to  require  all  his  time  and  strength, 
the  train-master  turned  to  his  fair  companion, 
and  reminded  her  that  this  was  the  nineteenth 
day  of  December. 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

"  It  was  a  year  ago  to-day  that  I  first  saw 
you  —  and  —  " 

"Turned  me  down,"  said  the  girl,  darting  a 
quick  glance  at  the  train-master,  which  was 
followed  by  a  pretty  blush. 

"  But  I  know  you  now,"  he  went  on,  feeling 
himself  at  a  disadvantage,  "  and  I  have  but  one 
regret,  and  that  is —  " 

"  That  I  am  a  woman." 

"  Never,"  he  declared  earnestly.  "  It  is 
that  I  did  not  know  you  sooner." 

"  But  you  have  said  so.  I  heard  you  tell 
Mr.  Creamer  that  you  were  sorry  I  was  not  a 
man." 

"Then  I  was  thinking  only  of  your  work  — 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  215 

now  I  am  thinking  only  of  you.  I  liked  your 
work,  but  I  —  I  love  you." 

Now  for  the  first  time  he  looked  her  full  in 
the  face.  It  was  a  great  deal  for  him  to  say, 
for,  unlike  most  men,  he  had  not  said  the  same 
before.  He  felt  relieved,  somehow,  having  it 
out,  and  looked  as  if  he  were  glad  he  had  said 
it.  Miss  Morgan,  in  addition  to  looking  radi 
antly  lovely,  looked  straight  ahead. 

"  Minnie  "  (he  began  very  deliberately  now), 
"  I  did  turn  you  down  a  year  ago,  and  I  know 
now  that  it  meant  a  great  deal  to  you,  but  if 
you  turn  me  down  to-day  it  means  a  million 
times  more  to  me.  It  means  a  life  of  joy  or 
one  of  sorrow ;  all  happiness  —  even  the  faint 
est  hope  of  it —  aye,  life  itself." 

She  was  still  silent,  but  he  had  begun  in 
stinctively  to  feel  himself  secure.  -  He  was 
almost  happy.  He  felt  like  joking  with  her. 
He  wanted  to  ask  if  her  wire  were  down,  but 
he  dared  not  risk  so  much,  —  she  was  too  seri 
ous.  Liquor  makes  some  men  sad,  others  it 
makes  silly,  and  so  it  is  with  the  intoxication  of 
love.  Goodlough  was  almost  foolishly  glad, 
and  yet  she  had  given  him  no  word  of  encour- 


2  1 6  THE  ~MYS  TERIO  US  MESS  A  GE 

agement.  Presently  his  left  arm  stole  away, 
and  he  asked  her  seriously  for  her  love,  her 
companionship  for  life;  and  she  hid  her  face, 
but  not  in  her  furs. 

The  morning  broke  clear  and  beautiful,  and 
the  crisp  air  was  full  of  the  sounds  of  clanging 
bells  and  the  screams  of  switch  engines.  Ex 
press  wagons  came  down  laden  with  boxes  and 
packages  —  bundles  of  sunshine  —  that  would 
find  their  way  to  hundreds  of  homes,  and  glad 
den  the  hearts  of  thousands  of  people.  Every 
body  was  busy,  for  the  President  of  the  road 
was  to  arrive  to-day.  When  Goodlough  left 
his  private  office  and  wandered  into  the  big 
room  where  the  despatches  worked,  he  heard 
Miss  Morgan  calling  Westcreek,  and  when 
Westcreek  answered,  heard  her  say  :  — 

"  Train  No.  8,  Conductor  Smith,  will  take  sid 
ing  for  special  west  engine  88,  at  Eastcreek." 

She  was  making  a  meeting  point  for  the 
President's  special  which,  by  a  strange  coin 
cidence,  was  coming  over  the  division  again  on 
the  20th  of  December.  A  year  ago  to  the  hour 
—  almost  to  the  minute  —  he  had  endeavored 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  217 

to  do  what  she  was  now  doing,  and  had  failed. 
She  had  tried  to  help  him,  he  would  help  her 
now,  if  she  went  wrong ;  and  he  listened  until 
the  operator  at  Lookout  siding  answered,  and 
she  said  :  — 

"  Special  west  engine  88  will  meet  train  No  8  at 
Eastcreek." 

"Bravo,"  cried  the  train-master.  "That's 
exactly  what  I  was  trying  to  do  a  year  ago, 
only  I  said  '  Westcreek  '  at  the  last." 

"  How  's  everything?  " 

"On  time,"  said  Miss  Morgan,  still  working 
the  key. 

After  glancing  about  for  a  few  minutes, 
Goodlough  returned  to  his  office,  and  sent  out 
a  bulletin  promoting  the  operator  at  Lookout 
to  be  train  despatcher  on  the  third  trick.  The 
same  order  put  the  two  old  despatchers  a  step 
nearer  the  presidency  of  the  road.  The  bulle 
tin  named  the  second  trick  man  to  be  day 
despatcher  "  to  succeed  Miss  Morgan,  assigned 
to  other  duties." 

He  had  barely  finished  this  pleasant  task, 
when  the  superintendent  came  in  with  the 
President,  whom  Goodlough  had  never  met. 


2l8  THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 

When  they  were  all  seated,  the  superintendent 
asked  the  train-master  to  relate  what  he  knew 
about  the  so-called  "  mysterious  message." 

"I  know  absolutely  nothing,"  declared  Good- 
lough,  earnestly,  for  the  subject  was  naturally 
embarrassing  to  him. 

"  You  told  Mr.  Creamer,  I  believe,  that  you 
were  positive  that  you  did  not  send  the  order 
to  Westcreek  to  hold  No.  8,  although  your  ini 
tials  went  with  it,"  said  the  superintendent, 
with  the  air  of  a  lawyer  cross-examining  a 
witness. 

"  I  did." 

"  And  you  do  not  know  who  sent  the 
message?" 

"  I  do  not." 

"  Well,  I  do,"  said  the  superintendent  with 
a  broad  smile,  "  and  I  '11  let  you  gentlemen 
into  the  secret.  The  '  mysterious  message  '  is 
no  longer  a  mystery.  When  Miss  Morgan  saw, 
or  rather  heard,  your  mistake,  she  endeavored 
to  convince  you  that  you  were  in  error,  but 
failed.  Despairing,  she  left  the  building.  She 
was  almost  wild  with  grief  and  alarm.  I  saw 
her  face  as  she  hurried  down  the  stair,  and  it 


THE    MYSTERIOUS   MESSAGE  2IQ 

was  the  face  of  a  mad  woman.  I  read  it  wrong, 
and  returned  at  once  to  you  to  learn  the  cause 
of  her  distress.  I  heard  you  call  Eastcreek 
and  ask  for  the  special,  —  your  last  message 
that  day,  —  and  heard  the  answer  <  Gone  '  and 
saw  you  fall.  But  the  frail  woman  whom  you 
had  turned  away,  did  not  fail.  While  you  fell 
fainting  among  the  ink-stands  and  instruments 
she  rushed  into  the  hotel  over  the  way,  and 
finding  no  one  in  the  Western  Union  office, 
took  the  key  and  began  calling  Westcreek. 
She  could  not  see  the  clock  as  you  did,  and 
she  called,  and  called ;  and  when  at  last  the 
operator  answered  she  told  him  to  hold  No.  8. 
1  No.  8  is  gone,'  said  the  operator.  <  Hold 
her,'  said  the  wire  back  at  him,  and  fearing  the 
operator  might  question  the  message,  she  sent 
your  initials  at  the  end  of  the  order.  It  was 
her  persistency  in  ordering  the  operator  to 
hold  an  express  train  that  had  already  gone  by, 
that  inspired  the  agent  with  the  idea  of  follow 
ing  the  train.  You  know  the  rest." 

"  Who  is  this  woman?  "  asked  the  President, 
and  the  superintendent  told  him  the  story  of 
the  girl  —  of  her  father's  death ;  how  she  had 


220  THE   MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 

been  called  to  the  despatcher's  desk  in  a  dire 
emergency  and  kept  there  from  day  to  day 
until  the  train- master  had  recovered  and  re 
sumed  his  office.  And  then,  when  one  of  the 
despatchers  had  gone  to  another  road,  she  had 
been  kept  as  day  despatcher,  and  all  this  time 
she  had  kept  the  secret  of  how  she  had  saved 
the  two  trains  and  possibly  the  President's  life. 
Every  one  seemed  to  regard  her  as  a  sort  of 
heroine,  but  nobody  knew  exactly  why. 

"  Brave  girl  !  "  cried  the  President,  rising  and 
beginning  to  pace  the  floor,  for  he  was  deeply 
affected  by  the  story  of  how  a  young  woman, 
who,  but  a  day  before  had  been  refused  em 
ployment  by  the  company,  had  contrived  to 
save  the  company's  property  and  the  lives  of 
men  whom  she  had  not  known.  "  She  shall 
have  the  company's  check  for  a  thousand,"  the 
President  added.  "  You  will  furnish  her  with 
transportation,"  he  continued,  addressing  the 
superintendent,  "  and  have  her  report  to  me  at 
the  Boston  office  the  first  of  the  year.  We 
need  a  trustworthy  operator  in  the  general 
office  —  the  pay  is  good  and  the  hours  easy." 

"  Miss  Morgan  reports  to  the  train-master," 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  221 

said  the  superintendent,  smiling  and  waving  a 
hand  toward  Goodlough,  who  sat  pale  and 
silent,  like  a  man  who  had  just  received  a  hard 
fall. 

The  suggestion  of  our  heroine's  going  to 
Boston  brought  him  to  his  feet.  "  Miss  Morgan 
will  not  be  in  the  company's  employ  after  to 
day,"  he  said,  looking  steadily  at  the  President. 

"  Has  she  been  dismissed?  " 

"  She  has  been  promoted,  and  is  to  take  her 
new  place  on  New  Year's  day." 

"  Have  you  anything  better  for  her  than  what 
I  can  offer?"  asked  the  President,  for  he  did  not 
relish  the  thought  of  a  train-master  question 
ing  the  wisdom  and  justice  of  his  order. 

"  Are  you  a  married  man?  "  asked  the  train 
master. 

"  I  am,  but  what  has  that  to  do  with  the 
matter?" 

"  In  that  case  I  think  I  have  something 
better  for  her  than  you  can  offer." 

"May  I  ask  what  office  she  is  to  take?" 
inquired  the  President,  glancing  from  the 
train-master  to  the  superintendent,  who  was 
still  smiling. 


222  THE   MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 

"  She  is  to  be  Mrs.  Goodlough,"  said  the 
train-master  with  a  stern,  calm  face. 

"  Accept  my  congratulations,"  said  the  Pres 
ident,  holding  out  his  hand.  "  This  is  the 
second  time,  then,  she  has  saved  your  life,"  he 
continued  as  Goodlough  took  his  hand  ;  "  and  I 
hope  you  will  allow  her  to  accept  my  personal 
check  for  another  thousand,  for  she  saved 
mine  as  well." 

Goodlough  was  greatly  affected  by  the  news 
of  Miss  Morgan's  heroism,  and  the  conduct  of 
the  President  and  superintendent  of  the  road. 
He  kept  clear  of  the  despatched  office  that 
day,  for  he  dared  not  trust  himself  in  her 
presence. 

After  the  departure  of  the  President,  he  had 
visited  his  chief  and  heard  the  story  of  Miss 
Morgan's  achievements  over  again.  So  she 
had  kept  the  secret  for  a  whole  year  and  re 
vealed  it  only  at  the  earnest  request  of  the 
superintendent,  who,  since  the  family's  mis 
fortune,  had  been  almost  a  father  to  her.  He 
had  helped  her  establish  her  mother  at  this 
place,  where  they  were  now  living  comfortably. 


THE   MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE  22 3 

That  evening,  when  Minnie's  mother  had 
retired  to  her  room,  and  the  lovers  were  left 
alone  together  in  the  little  lamp-lit  parlor,  they 
looked  at  each  other  in  silence  for  a  moment. 

"  What  distresses  you?  "  asked  Miss  Morgan. 

"And  you?"  inquired  the  train-master. 

"  Order  No.  76,"  was  her  reply.  "  I  Ve  lost 
my  place." 

"  And  found  a  friend,  a  lover,  —  aye,  a  hus 
band  and  happiness,  I  hope." 

"And  what  have  you  found?  " 

"  The  sender  of  the  *  mysterious  message,'  " 
said  Goodlough,  advancing  to  where  his  sweet 
heart  sat. 

"Did  he  tell  you?" 

"  Yes,  and  he  told  the  President,  and  you  are 
to  be  rewarded  handsomely  by  the  company 
whose  property  you  saved,  and  the  President  is 
not  sorry  he  's  alive.  And  I  ?  How  shall  I 
repay  you  for  all  that  you  have  done  for  me?" 

"  By  pardoning  me  for  forging  your  name  to 
the  message,  and  becoming  cheerful,  and  short 
ening  your  office  hours,  and  —  well,  if  anything 
more  occurs  to  me  I  '11  tell  you  later." 

"Then  you  did  send  the  message?" 


224  THE   MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE 

"  Yes." 

"  And  how  about  the  flowers  that  came  to 
the  hospital  every  day,  —  the  red  roses  whose 
breath  called  me  back  to  life  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  and  the  little  hand  stole  into 
his  and  nestled  there. 

And  then  they  talked  on  for  just  a  little  while. 
She  forgot  that  she  was  out  of  employment,  and 
he  forgot  the  lap  order  of  a  year  ago.  The 
lamp  burned  low.  He  lighted  a  match  to  look 
at  his  watch,  and  it  was  neither  yesterday  nor 
to-morrow,  but  just  between,  and  then,  as  all 
telegraphers  do  at  the  end  of  the  day,  she  gave 
him  "  good-night,"  and  he  went  away. 


§>craptomania 


SCRAPTOMANIA 


T^VERY  man  who  has  railroaded  for  a  single 
day  on  the  Rio  Grande,  has  heard  of  John 
Jones,  —  "  Scrappy  "  Jones  they  called  him.  If 
there  is  such  a  disease  as  scraptomania  then 
John  Jones  had  it,  good  and  hard.  He  began 
at  the  bottom  as  helper  in  the  machine  shops 
and  industriously  fought  his  way  up  the  ladder 
until  he  became  a  full-fledged  locomotive  en 
gineer.  There  is  scarcely  a  flag  station  on  the 
entire  system  that  has  not  at  some  time  or 
another  been  his  battlefield. 

The  most  interesting  feature  in  the  history  of 
Jones  is  the  fact  that  he  never  sought  a  fight, 
or  fought  for  the  "  fun  of  it,"  as  most  fighting 
characters  do.  I  knew  him  intimately,  worked 
with  him  many  a  day,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
he  had  fights  thrust  upon  him  in  nearly  every 
instance.  When  he  was  "  hostler "  at  Salida 


228  SCR  A  P  TOM  A  NIA 

I  was  his  assistant.  One  day  when  we  were 
dangling  our  feet*  from  a  high  bench  in  the 
round-house,  I  asked  him  how  it  was  that  he 
had  so  many  fights.  "You  are  better  tempered 
and  happier  than  I  am.  I  have  had  one  fight 
since  I  began  railroading ;  how  many  have  you 
had?" 

"  '  Bout  a  hundred,"  said  Jones,  and  his 
homely  face  was  sad.  He  told  me,  then  and 
there,  that  fighting  was  his  besetting  sin.  He 
had  worked  and  prayed  that  he  might  be  spared 
the  necessity  of  thrashing  men,  but  it  seemed 
a  part  of  his  mission  on  earth.  When  the  noon 
whistle  sounded,  we  slid  off  the  high  bench  and 
went  into  the  washroom  to  prepare  for  luncheon. 
Before  we  left  the  house  we  were  obliged  to  use 
the  turn-table.  "  Hey  there,  back  up.  We  want 
to  use  the  turn-table  !  "  Jones  called  cheerfully 
enough  to  a  passenger  engineer  who  was  oiling 
his  locomotive  which,  contrary  to  all  rules  and 
customs,  was  left  standing  on  the  table.  Now 
Jones  had  thrashed  nearly  every  engineer  he 
had  fired  for  during  his  apprenticeship  and 
they  all  hated  him,  so  this  middle  division  man 
only  gave  him  a  sour  look  and  went  on  oiling. 


SCR  A  P  TO  MA  NIA  229 


"  Say,"  said  Jones,  rolling  his  thumb  and  twirl 
ing  his  watch  chain  about  it,  "  are  you  going 
to  back  up?" 

"Yes,  when  I  get  ready,"  was  the  reply,  and 
Jones  made  straight  for  the  engine.  As  he 
climbed  up  on  one  side  the  driver  mounted 
from  the  other,  and,  snatching  up  a  hand  ham 
mer,  raised  it  above  Jones's  head  and  warned 
him  to  keep  off  his  engine.  I  held  my  breath 
as  Jones  continued  to  climb  and  the  engineer 
stood  ready  to  brain  him.  When  the  hostler, 
who  appeared  not  to  have  heard  the  warning, 
had  gained  the  deck,  he  twisted  the  hammer 
from  the  grasp  of  the  engineer,  threw  it  back 
into  the  coal  tank,  backed  the  engine  from  the 
table,  set  the  air  brakes,  and  leaped  to  the 
ground.  He  had  missed  a  fight  here  simply 
because  the  engineer  weakened,  and  yet  Jones 
was  wholly  in  the  right.  Once  when  he  was 
firing  a  passenger  engine  they  stopped  at 
Cleora,  only  two  miles  from  the  end  of  the  run ; 
the  engineer  abused  Jones  and  Jones  thumped 
him.  The  driver  told  the  conductor  that  he 
would  not  run  the  engine  in  with  that  fireman, 
whereupon  Jones  gave  the  driver  another  lick- 


230  SCRAl'TOMAXIA 


ing,  drove  him  into  the  cab,  and  compelled  him 
to  go  to  the  end  of  the  division.  There  was  an 
investigation  in  the  office  of  Master  Mechanic 
Kelker,  at  Pueblo,  the  engineer  began  to  abuse 
the  fireman,  and  he  was  notified  by  the  latter 
that  such  a  course  was  liable  to  lead  to  trouble. 
Presently  the  engineer  called  Jones  a  liar,  and 
instantly  he  fell  sprawling  across  the  master 
mechanic's  desk.  This  caused  the  fireman's 
discharge.  But  the  provocation  had  been  great, 
and  the  official  gave  Jones  a  rather  complimen 
tary  letter  to  the  general  master  mechanic  at 
Denver.  Jones  went  up  and  told  the  whole 
story,  not  even  attempting  to  justify  his  own 
actions,  and  he  was  reemployed  upon  another 
run. 

In  those  days  engineers  and  firemen  worked 
far  apart,  and  as  Jones  had  licked  about  half 
the  engineers  on  the  middle  division,  he  was 
simply  despised  by  the  men  on  the  right  hand 
side.  There  was  a  young  Irishman  who  was  a 
magnificent  man,  physically,  and  possessed  of 
no  end  of  sand,  and  to  this  handsome  fellow 
was  given  the  task  of  thrashing  Scrappy  Jones. 
They  met  one  day  out  at  the  steel  works,  and 


SCR  A  P  TO  MA  NIA  231 

the  Irishman  had  no  trouble  in  working  Jones 
up  to  the  proper  pitch.  Jones  told  the  story  of 
this  fight  to  me.  "He  looked  like  a  giant,"  he 
said,  "  when  he  faced  me,  but  I  was  mad. 
Before  I  knew  he  was  within  reach  he  hit  me 
square  between  the  eyes,  and  it  seemed  to  me 
that  it  was  raining  fire.  I  fell  sprawling  on  my 
back,  but  got  up  as  quickly  as  I  could,  and  he 
knocked  me  down  again.  I  got  up  again,  with 
the  air  full  of  sparks.  He  knocked  me  down 
again.  More  fire.  I  continued  to  go  down  and 
get  up.  It  didn't  hurt  so  very  much,  only  it 
blinded  me,  and  that  annoyed  me,  for  I  was 
anxious  to  see  how  he  did  it,  for  I  had  never 
found  it  utterly  impossible  to  get  at  a  man 
before.  As  often  as  I  straightened  up  he  hit  me 
plumb  between  the  eyes  and  down  I  went.  I 
had  been  down  six  times,  but  my  wind  was 
better  than  that  of  my  opponent,  and  that  very 
fact  seemed  to  discourage  him.  He  was  breath 
ing  like  a  snow  plough,  and  when  I  went  down  for 
the  seventh  time  he  started  to  climb  my  frame, 
and  that  was  his  Waterloo.  I  saw  him  coming, 
dimly,  as  through  a  veil  all  dotted  with  stars. 
I  doubled  up  like  a  jack-knife,  and  when  I 


232  SCRAPTOMANIA 


straightened  my  legs  out  I  drove  my  feet  into 
the  stomach  of  my  antagonist.  He  went  over 
on  his  back,  and  I  went  over  on  top  of  him  and 
closed  the  incident.  He  had  me  whipped.  I 
was  completely  done  out  and  three  more  falls 
would  have  ended  me,  but  he  got  scared  and 
wanted  to  end  the  fight." 

The  next  man  selected  to  discipline  Jones 
was  a  yard-master,  named  Jim  Williams.  When 
Williams  saw  the  fighter  for  the  first  time  he 
laughed  at  him. 

"  Are  you  the  artist  that  has  licked  all  the 
engineers  on  the  middle  division?"  asked  Jim 
with  a  quizzical  smile. 

Jones  showed  plainly  that  he  was  embar 
rassed.  He  always  looked  so  when  he  knew 
that  a  man  was  trying  to  pick  a  quarrel  with 
him.  He  answered  that  he  had  done  the  best 
he  could  for  those  who  had  come  up  against 
him,  and  Jim  laughed  some  more.  Three  or 
four  seconds  were  now  wasted  in  preliminary 
talk,  and  then  the  two  climbed  into  an  empty 
box  and  shut  the  door.  The  men  on  the  out 
side  only  listened  to  catch  a  word  that  would 
give  them  some  idea  as  to  how  the  fight  was 


SCRAPTOMANIA  233 

going,  but  there  was  no  talk.  At  times  one 
would  fancy  that  a  football  team  was  perform 
ing  inside.  Now  there  came  heaves  and 
grunts  as  if  two  men  were  trying  to  put  up  a 
heavy  stove,  and  then  you  might  guess  that 
a  dray  had  backed  up  to  the  opposite  door  and 
they  were  throwing  in  a  few  sacks  of  potatoes. 
Presently  there  was  a  "  rush  "  and  they  threw 
in  the  dray,  horse  and  all.  This  was  followed 
by  perfect  quiet,  save  for  the  heavy  breathing 
of  the  horse.  A  few  moments  later  the  door 
was  opened  and  the  two  men  came  out,  bleed 
ing  through  their  smiles,  and  still  the  result  of 
the  fight  was  a  secret,  and  it  has,  so  far  as  I 
know,  remained  so  to  this  day. 

Jones's  fights  became  so  notorious  that  the 
travelling  engineer  waited  upon  him  to  say  that 
the  master  mechanic  had  ordered  that  the 
belligerent  engineer  be  discharged  at  the  con 
clusion  of  his  next  fight.  Jones  promised  to 
reform.  About  a  month  later  the  travelling 
engineer  climbed  into  the  cab  of  the  engine 
which  Jones  was  running,  helping  trains  from 
Colorado  Springs  up  over  the  Divide.  The 
young  driver  showed  much  feeling  upon  meet- 


234  SCRAPTOMANIA 


ing  the  T.  E.,  and  at  once  assured  the  official 
that  he  appreciated  the  leniency  of  the  manage 
ment  j  that  they  had  all  been  very  forgiving, 
and  now  he  hoped  that  he  might  leave  the 
service  with  the  good  wishes  of  the  officials. 

"Why,  you  are  not  going  to  quit,  are  you, 
John?  The  old  man  has  complimented  you 
repeatedly  upon  the  excellent  work  you  have 
been  doing  here  on  the  hill." 

"  Then  I  take  it  that  the  old  man  is  n't  on," 
said  Jones.  "  That  's  like  you,  Frank,  to  try  to 
save  my  neck,  but  it  's  no  use." 

Suddenly  it  dawned  upon  the  mind  of  the 
travelling  superintendent  of  motive  power  that 
Jones  had  been  fighting.  If  he  wanted  to  be 
sure,  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  ask  Jones  and  he 
would  get  the  whole  truth,  so  he  asked  him 
whom  he  had  fought  with. 

"  The  hill  crew,"  was  the  brief  reply. 

"All  of  them." 

"  Yep  —  began  on  the  head  brakeman  and 
cleaned  out  the  caboose,  including  the  cap 
tain,"  said  Jones  with  no  show  of  pride.  The 
official  jumped  off  the  engine  and  swung  into 
the  caboose  of  an  east-bound  freight  train,  and 


SCRAPTOMANIA 


235 


that  was  the  last  Jones  heard  of  the  order  to 
discharge  him,  for  the  conductor  was  too  proud 
to  report  the  fact  that  a  little  man  weighing 
less  than  one  hundred  and  forty  pounds  had 
cleaned  out  the  crew  with  his  naked  hands. 
The  story  of  this  fight  and  how  it  came  about 
was  related  to  the  writer  by  the  travelling 
engineer  himself. 

"  We  've  got  a  cranky  engineer,"  the  old 
brakeman  had  said  to  the  new  brake  man,  who 
boasted  that  he  was  off  the  stormy  division  of 
the  "  Q,"  and  that  he  had  not  yet  met  an  en 
gineer  who  could  tame  him.  "The  only  way 
you  can  handle  him  is  to  go  at  him  dead  hard 
from  the  jump ;  cuss  him  good  and  plenty, 
and,  if  necessary,  thump  him,  and  he  '11  be 
your  friend." 

"  Cussin'  's  like  walkin'  to  me,"  said  the  "  Q  " 
man,  "  and  when  it  comes  to  a  scrap,  that 's 
me  Prince  Albert,"  and  he  went  up  to  the 
head  end.  When  he  had  arrived  at  a  point 
immediately  under  the  cab  window,  he  began 
a  torrent  of  blankety  blanking  that  made  the 
engineer  dart  his  head  out  of  the  window  to 
see  what  was  the  matter.  The  moment  that 


236  SCRAPTOMANIA 


Jones  realized  that  the  fellow  was  cursing  him, 
he  leaped  right  out  through  the  cab  window 
and  lit  on  top  of  the  brakeman,  and  by  the 
time  the  rear  man  came  up  the  head  man  was 
yelling  for  help.  He  told  Jones  at  once  that 
the  rear  brakeman  had  informed  him  that  the 
engineer  was  a  tough  mug,  who  had  to  be 
cursed  or  he  would  be  ugly,  and  Jones 
promptly  apologized  to  the  head  brakeman 
and  thrashed  the  other  fellow.  Now  the  con 
ductor,  who  had  allowed  all  this  to  come  about 
with  his  knowledge  and  silent  consent,  observed 
that  Jones  was  a  brute,  and  he  got  what  the 
other  two  men  had  received,  and  from  that 
day  the  hill  crew  dwelt  together  in  peace  and 
brotherly  love. 

Once  when  Jones  was  still  a  fireman  he  was 
transferred  to  the  mountain  division,  so  as  to 
be  forgotten  for  a  time  by  the  engineers  of  the 
middle  of  the  road.  When  he  reached  the  top 
of  the  hill  for  the  first  time  he  noticed  that  the 
rear  end  of  the  tank  was  covered  with  wet  cin 
ders,  and,  like  the  industrious  fireman  that  he 
was,  he  got  up  and  began  to  sweep  them  off  in 
the  long  snow  shed  at  Marshall  Pass. 


SCRAPTOMANIA  237 

The  superintendent's  private  car  was  stand 
ing  near  by,  but  Jones  did  not  notice  it  in  the 
smoky  shed,  and  the  first  swipe  of  his  broom 
sent  a  flood  of  cinders  over  the  superin 
tendent,  who  happened  at  that  moment  to  be 
passing. 

"  Blank,  blank  you,"  shouted  the  official, 
and,  as  he  looked  up,  he  saw  the  fireman  leap 
from  the  top  of  the  tank,  and  he  had  to  step 
back  to  avoid  a  crush.  "  Do  you  know  who  I 
am?  "  asked  the  official. 

"  No,  and  I  don't  care  so  long  as  you  've  got 
gray  hair." 

"  I  'm  the  superintendent." 

"Well, you,  don't  you me  again," 

said  Jones,  and  he  got  back  on  his  engine,  and 
the  superintendent,  who  was  himself  a  high- 
spirited  man,  remarked  afterwards  that  he  liked 
that  fellow's  spunk,  and,  in  fact,  he  showed  in 
after  years  that  he  did  like  it,  for  he  would 
have  Jones  when  none  of  the  other  division 
superintendents  would. 

The  last  time  I  saw  Jones  he  told  me  that 
he  had  quit  railroading.  He  had  bought,  with 
the  money  he  had  saved  up,  the  old  farm  in 


238  SCRAPTOMANIA 

Kentucky  where  he  was  born,  had  married  the 
little  girl  who  had  been  his  playmate  in  child 
hood,  and  I  presume  she  and  I  were  about  the 
only  close  friends  he  had  whom  he  had  never 
thrashed. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY — TEL.  NO.  642-3405 
This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


REC'D  LD    kUGU'69-lOAM 


DECS    1971 

' 


i  1 


MAR    71984 

RFP  rip    »^  ,  /   •>. 

LD21A-60m-6,'69 
(J9096slO)476-A-32 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


COSSDb4b67 


M315953 


